Raising the Antichrist
by Eileen
Summary: What if Crowley had switched babies before even getting to the hospital? As a result, he and Aziraphale end up raising the Antichrist themselves, but Fate-or the Great Plan-will not be mocked, and things don't go as expected.
1. Chapter 1

The demon known as Crowley had never expected to become a father. He liked children, that was true, but had never thought he'd have any of his own. So when the Whore of Babylon, fair as the moon and pale as death, presented him with a golden-haired male child she swore was his, he was a bit surprised, but not entirely shocked. He'd had a go with her, once or twice. Everyone had.

He put the infant in a carry-cot and brought him to show Aziraphale. The angel was just closing the bookshop at the moment, and when Crowley rapped on the door, he at first refused to open it.

"We are closed!"

"It's me, angel. Open up. Got something to show you."

"Oh. Crowley. Hang on."

There was the sliding of bolts and the unlocking of locks, and then Aziraphale opened the door. "What have you got there?" he asked. "Did you bring me a present?"

"Sort of." He pulled back the cover and revealed the infant's face.

Aziraphale went pale. "Crowley, where did you get this child? And what do you plan to do with him?"

"Oh, he's mine. I'm keeping him."

"You're . . ." The angel was utterly flabbergasted. "Why?"

"Dunno. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Will you help me? Children do need two parents, you know."

"What about his, um, his mother?"

"Oh, she's a career woman. No interest in raising him at all. I've got-hang on." Crowley seemed to be listening to some sort of internal radio broadcast. A strange expression settled over his features. He shook himself and fixed his eyes on Aziraphale's.

"The moment that we've feared for six thousand years," he said, "has arrived."

"What, the-"

"Yes. I have to go and pick up the Antichrist and deliver him to some maternity hospital."

"So don't go!"

"They'll just get someone else to do it."

"But we have to stop this! Remember we talked about this, ages ago?"

The baby woke up and started crying. Crowley rocked the carrier gently, and when that failed to work, he unstrapped the infant and picked him up, holding him closely and walking back and forth, bouncing him up and down slightly. This seemed to calm the child, and he stopped crying. Crowley then handed him off to Aziraphale.

"Watch him for me for a bit, will you? I'll be back."

"What? You're actually going to go do this?"

"Not as if I've got a choice, is it? Bye, sweetums," he said, stroking the baby's cheek with one finger. "Be good for Uncle Zira."

"Now wait just a minute-"

"Bottle's in the bag, if he gets hungry. There's diapers in there, too. I shouldn't be that long, though. Maybe an hour. _Ciao_!"

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Aziraphale alone with the sleeping demon child. He stared down at the infant in his arms and hoped that Crowley wouldn't be long.

* * *

Traffic was absolutely insane. Crowley got stuck for what seemed like hours, and barely made it to the rendezvous in time. Hastur and Ligur were not pleased.

They handed off a basket with the Antichrist inside. Crowley couldn't resist sneaking a peek. Adorable little fiend, wasn't he? Looked a lot like Crowley's baby, actually. They could almost be twins.

It was on the drive to the hospital that an idea occurred to him. A way to, if not cancel, at least postpone the Apocalypse for as long as possible. If it worked.

He turned off so suddenly that he nearly collided with another driver. There were horn honks and shouted epithets that nearly woke the child. The hum of the motor and the motion of the car put him back to sleep.

He rushed into the bookshop, basket in hand.

"That was quick," said Aziraphale, still bouncing Crowley's child on his lap. "What's that you've got there?"

"I've had . . . an idea," he said breathlessly. In a few quick sentences, he outlined the basics for the angel.

"Are you sure? Someone will notice, won't they?"

"Not for a long time. Well, as humans count time. Eleven years. By that time we'll have trained him up good and proper, and when the time comes, he'll tell the Apocalypse to just sod off."

Aziraphale glowered at him. "Language in front of the child! Children."

"It's just taking their plan to another level. Why settle for one baby swap when we can do it twice? Here, take the Adversary, Destroyer of Worlds, et cetera for a minute while I put Forneus in the basket."

"Forneus? Bit of a strange name, that."

"After a mate of mine. Good with languages. There we go, baby. It's all right, soon you'll be with good people who'll love you as their own, because as far as they're concerned, you are their own. Meanwhile, we'll just keep the real Antichrist safe, won't we?"

"You named him Forneus?"

"Will you let it go, angel? I had to call him something. If you can't manage it, we can call him . . ." And the perfect nickname occurred to him. "Freddie. This is Freddie now," he said, indicating the baby in Aziraphale's arms. "You take care of him till I get back. Again."

"I can't believe it's all ending," the angel lamented.

"Not," said Crowley, "if we do this right." And he was gone again, basket in hand.

Aziraphale's head was spinning from all that had happened in less than an hour. So it was starting, then. The End of the World. No more sushi dinners at the Golden Lotus on Thursday afternoons. No more bottles of fine wine, just the perfect vintage, kept in his storeroom until needed. (He suspected that a good few would be needed tonight.) No more new books. No old books, either. No more **people**. No more anything.

It just wasn't fair! He hadn't had any warning from Head Office that it was starting! They'd expect him to turn up for the war, brandishing the flaming sword he'd lost ages ago. Well, actually, he hadn't lost it-he'd given it away to Adam and Eve, who needed it when they were ejected from the Garden so suddenly. He hadn't thought twice about letting them have it, for protection and warmth. He hadn't been thinking about the end then. That had been only the beginning.

He put the baby-Freddie; he'd have to start thinking of him as Freddie now-back in his carrier to sleep, and then he went to get the bottle of vintage wine he'd been saving for a special occasion. The beginning of the end of the world certainly qualified.

Oh, what if something went wrong? What if they knew about the switch and weren't happy about it? What would they do to poor Crowley? Aziraphale didn't even want to imagine the kinds of punishments a demon could dole out. They were too . . . horrific to contemplate.

He sat and made himself a cup of cocoa while he waited. He kept looking between the door and the baby's carrier, wondering what to do if Crowley failed to return. Would he have to raise this child alone? The Antichrist, raised by an angel? There was something fundamentally wrong with that idea, but he didn't suppose he had any choice.

* * *

Crowley, for his part, had a much easier time of it on his second trip. It was a straight shot down to the maternity hospital, in a little place called Tadfield in Oxfordshire. All the way, he listened to Queen, and focused on the task at hand.

"You're going to like the Dowlings, Freddie," he said to the child. "He's an ambassador from America. Very big place, America. Been there once, ages ago. Well . . . New York, in the Seventies, but that doesn't really count because everyone at the discos was drunk or stoned. He's posted here for the time being, though, so you'll be close to hand. Don't worry about a thing, pet. Your old dad has everything in hand."

He was amazed at how quickly he had come to grips with the idea of being a father, considering that he'd only been one for about two and a half hours. Freddie had been handed off to him pretty much out of the gate. The Antichrist was about the same age, measured in hours and minutes rather than days or weeks, and he had to wonder about that. What were the odds that two female demons had both given birth in the same exact moment? Demons were nowhere near as fertile as humans; it wasn't as if demon births were something that happened every day.

When he looked back, much, much later, he had to wonder why he hadn't thought more about it. It was too much of a coincidence to be pure chance. No doubt it was all part of the plan. The Great Plan. The Ineffable Plan.

The plan that was going to end the world in eleven years, unless what he was about to do succeeded. Even then, there was no guarantee.

He arrived at the hospital and didn't bother looking for a parking space, leaving the car directly in front of the door. There was a man outside, smoking a pipe and looking worried.

"Have they started yet?" Crowley asked.

"They're up in Room Three," said the man. "Kicked me right out. We had a plan! That wasn't part of the plan!"

"Don't talk to me about plans," Crowley muttered, and went inside, the basket swinging against his hip. Freddie, having been sung to sleep by his namesake, remained blissfully unaware of just how much his life was about to change.

One of the nuns met him in the front lobby. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Mr. Crowley! They told me you were on the way, sir, but I thought you'd be-"

"Yes, yes," Crowley interrupted her. He was just now beginning to remember why he hated dealing with the Chattering Order of St. Beryl. They never shut up. "Take this to Room Three."

"Ooh, is that him? The Adversary, Destroyer of Worlds, the-"

"Yes! Go on, now. Not much time. I think they said Room Three."

"Room Three. Right." She took the basket from him and opened the lid. Freddie, awakened by the sudden light shining in his face, blinked up at this stranger in a black hood.

"Ooh, look at the little darling! But he looks so normal! I thought he'd have little horns or hoofy-woofies or something! Does he look like his daddy?"

"No," Crowley said. It was true. The kid didn't look a thing like him.

"All right, then, let's get you where you belong. Erm, do you think he'll remember me? When he grows up, I mean."

"Pray that he doesn't," Crowley said, and left the building.

He raced back to the bookshop, hoping that everything was all right. The nuns would handle the exchange. If they noticed anything awry, he was sure he'd hear about it from a higher-up very soon.

Well, if Sister Blabbermouth was anything to go by, they weren't the sharpest axes in the armory. Everything would be fine. He parked in his usual spot and went into the bookshop.

Aziraphale wasn't there.

"Angel?" he called. "I'm back!"

"Shush!" Aziraphale called out in a stage whisper. "I've just got him to bed! I had to improvise, of course, just for tonight. He's in my bottom drawer. I hope he's not allergic to Egyptian cotton."

"I doubt it."

"So the, um, the switch-"

"Baby delivered," Crowley said. "I mean, handed off. They've got him now, and we won't see him again for eleven years."

"I was thinking about that," said Aziraphale. "People like that, important people, well, they're not very hands-on with their children, are they? Don't like to get their hands dirty. They'll be looking for a nanny."

"No. Oh, no. Not again. You remember what happened back in 1815, when I worked for that family with the-"

"Yes, yes, I know. I was just thinking that it would be a way for you to be close to him. He **is **your own flesh and blood, after all."

"But he's their child now," Crowley pointed out. "We have to start thinking of the other one-" He inclined his head toward the back-"as Freddie, because that's who he is now, as far as anyone knows. As far as either Heaven or Hell is concerned, the Antichrist is being raised by the American ambassador and his wife."

"I could do it, if you wanted."

"No, you look terrible in a skirt. Remember Culloden?"

"I'd rather not, if it's all the same. Terrible day, that was. Terrible!"

"Anyway, we both need to be here with-with Freddie, to make sure that the good influences cancel out the bad, and instead of an Antichrist ready to end the world, we have a perfectly normal child with no interest whatsoever in the whole matter. I need your help. Children do need two parents, after all."

"Oh, goodness." Aziraphale beamed. "What's he going to call me? I suppose you'll be Daddy, since, you know, you are his daddy and all."

"I don't care. He can call you what he likes. The important thing is, we're together on this, and without anyone Above or Below being the wiser."

"Of course I'm with you, dear. I don't want the world to end any more than you do. Shall we have a drink? Or two?"

"I think," said Crowley, dropping into his favorite chair, "given the day I've had, a drink is absolutely called for, at this exact moment."

They drank for several hours, only pausing when Freddie woke up needing to be fed and changed. Crowley took care of it smoothly despite being very drunk, prompting Aziraphale to remark, "See? Told y'. Y're a natural."

"You gotta learn t' do this, too. Not lettin' you off the hook."

"We should prob'ly sober up, now."

"Right, right."

It took only a moment for the two of them to clear the alcohol completely from their bodies. (Where it went, they didn't even want to think about.) Now sober, they could face the full implications of what they had done and what they were about to commit to doing.

"It's a big thing," Crowley said. "Stopping the Apocalypse."

"Biggest thing that ever was or could be," agreed Aziraphale. "Was that the little one again?"

"What? I didn't hear anything."

"No? Oh, well, maybe it wasn't him. Where do you think, um, the other one is? Right now?"

"Well, it's only been-" Crowley checked his state of the art Swiss timepiece and discovered that it was now four o'clock in the morning. "Eight hours? That can't be right. Where did the time go?"

"We **have** been drinking for quite a while."

"True. Anyway, they won't send them home till tomorrow. Today. Later today. I guess. I don't know. Why?"

"Just wondering. I mean, we should keep tabs on him, right? Officially."

"Officially, yes. I've got my report to write. Where's your computer?"

Aziraphale nodded towards a vintage Apple model that looked as if it belonged in a museum.

"Does that thing still work?"

"Of course it works! I use it all the time to keep track of the accounts."

Crowley looked at him strangely. "You don't actually sell anything, do you?"

"Not often, no."

"So what's to keep track of?"

"Would you rather have a pencil and paper, dear? I can get those for you, if my machine is too complicated for you."

"No, no, I can manage. On second thought, if they trace it back to this computer, we'll both be in trouble. I'll do it at home. Should probably be going."

"So soon?"

"Angel, it's been hours! It just feels like no time 'cause we've been drunk."

"Oh, stay! I've got plenty of room upstairs. Besides, I don't want to wake, you know . . . Freddie. He's such a little . . . bundle of joy."

"Glad you two are getting on. Now, about that nanny job . . ."

* * *

Unbeknownst to either Crowley or Aziraphale, there had been a third baby at the hospital. The man whom Crowley had met outside the doors was the father of this third baby, whom we shall call Baby A. Baby A was born in Room Three.

The Dowlings' baby, whom we shall call Baby B, was born in Room Four. He was also a golden-haired male baby, almost identical to Baby A and to the third baby on the premises, the original Freddie, whom we shall call Baby C.

Sister Mary Loquacious took Baby C from Crowley and brought him to Room Three to do the switch, which she did. Then Sister Theresa came in, took Baby A, and brought him into Room Four to switch him with Baby B. Sister Mary didn't tell her that she'd already done the switch. She just somehow forgot.

If you've been paying attention, you'll notice that Baby A wound up with the Dowlings, Baby C went home with the Youngs, and as for Baby B . . . well, let's just imagine that the nuns had him adopted out to a nice family. He plays no further part in this story, so we might as well think that. It's probably nicer than what actually happened to him. But we will say no more about that.

Meanwhile, the real Antichrist slept in a drawer in a room over a bookshop in Soho, watched over by an angel, and as far as Crowley knew, the child he thought was his was being raised by the Dowlings. No one would realize that a mistake had been made for quite some time. Eleven years, in fact.

In the meantime, everyone was content. Heaven began preparing for the coming war (which they of course would win), Hell rested in the knowledge that their young Lord and Master would rise in due time, and Crowley and Aziraphale ended up raising two boys, more or less.


	2. Chapter 2

If you asked five-year-old Warlock who his favorite person in the world was, he would answer right away. Warlock's favorite person, the only one who truly loved him, was his nanny. She lived in the room next to his, wore long skirts and dark glasses (she claimed she had sensitive eyes), and was always there when he called for her. Unlike either of his parents, who seemed to avoid him as much as possible.

Warlock's second-favorite person was a boy named Freddie, who was just his own age. They even had the same birthday. Freddie came three days a week with the gardener, Brother Francis. Freddie was Brother Francis' nephew or godson or something; Warlock had never asked.

Freddie was brilliant at finding new games for them to play. He sang songs, too. Warlock's favorite was the one about Sarah Moose. "Sarah Moose, Sarah Moose, will you do the fandango?"

"What's a fandango?" Warlock asked.

"I think it's a dance," said Freddie.

"Do mooses dance?"

"I don't know. I guess so."

"Moose," said Nanny, watching them from a folding chair she had set up in the garden. "The proper plural of moose is _moose_. One moose, two moose, ten moose. All right, boys?"

"Yes, Nanny."

"Yes, Daddy-I mean Mummy."

"Daddy?" Warlock looked from Freddie to Nanny in confusion.

Nanny smiled. "Just a slip of the tongue, isn't that right, Freddie dear?"

"Yes, Mum."

At that moment Warlock's mummy came to the back door and called him. "The reporter from the magazine is coming in half an hour. We need to get you cleaned up and photo-ready."

"Okay, Mum." Warlock got up and tried to brush the dirt off his knees, but only ended up rubbing it in further. "Mummy, did you know that Freddie calls Nanny 'Daddy'?"

"Oh, really?" she said, looking over her shoulder as she ushered her son inside. "I suppose it's because Freddie doesn't really have a daddy."

"I thought Brother Francis was his daddy."

"I don't think so, sweetie. Now come on, you've got to have a bath now. Honestly, I don't understand how you can get so dirty in so little time!"

The back door closed, and Freddie turned to his daddy/mummy and asked, "Was I not supposed to say that?"

"It's not you, Freddie frog," she said. "Papa and I just weren't sure how to explain this to you. It's a bit difficult for a little fellow to understand."

"What is?"

"You see, I'm . . . well, some people are men, and some are women. And some can be either one or the other, as they choose. Sometimes I'm a man, and other times, I'm a woman."

"Why?" the boy asked innocently.

"Well, because . . . because we can be whatever we want, whenever we choose."

"Am I gonna be a woman someday?"

Oh, boy. "That's up to you, dear. Ask yourself: do you feel like a little boy, or a little girl?"

Freddie scrunched up his face in confusion. It made Crowley smile wistfully; he looked just like Aziraphale when he did that. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know what a little girl feels like."

"Why don't you be a boy for now, and when you're a little older, we'll talk about it again?"

"Okay, Dad-Mum. Are you gonna be a man again soon?"

"I don't know, love. Maybe. Why? Do you want me to be a man?"

"Do **you **wanna be?"

Now there was a question. "We'll see, pet. Now, I think you need a bath as well. And then you can sit and read your book until Warlock's done with his photo shoot, all right?"

"Okay."

* * *

There were only a few days left of summer, and Freddie and Warlock were determined to make the most of them. The two of them sat on the grass watching Brother Francis painstakingly dig up rocks and toss them aside.

"You gonna build a wall with 'em?" asked Warlock.

"Oh, no, Master Warlock, they're far too small to build a proper stone wall."

"We could build one ourselves," said Freddie. "For the worms." He pointed to the various wriggly creatures who were fleeing the destruction of their home.

"Ye can't do that," said Brother Francis. He got down so he was eye-level with both boys. "Don't worms deserve to be free, like all living creatures?"

"Nanny says that all creatures great and small must live in subju-subjucate-"

"Subjugation," said Nanny. "All things that fly in the sky, run in the fields, and creep on their bellies in the earth, all of these are under your control. For you are master of this earth and everything in it."

Brother Francis stood up and squared off against Nanny. She was almost as tall as he was; the heels on her boots put them directly eye to eye. "I don't think ye should be tellin' the boys all this."

"They've got to learn, Francis. That's the way the world is. Kill or be killed. Eat . . . or be eaten." She took a step back and brushed dust off her apron. "Speaking of which, it's time for lunch. Come along, boys."

"We're not finished with this, Miss," Brother Francis said.

"Yes, yes. Come along. Be sure and wash your hands well, all of you."

* * *

A few miles away, Adam Young, also five years old, was talking to a snake.

He had seen it sneaking up on him from the back of the garden, and without thinking, he said, "You don't want to bite me. I taste terrible!"

The snake stopped in front of him and raised its head. Then it hissed, "You can speak snake?"

The thing was, it didn't speak in English words. All Adam's ears heard was a lot of hissing, but somehow, when it arrived at his brain, the hissing formed itself perfectly into English words.

""I guess so," he said, and to him, the words sounded like English. But the snake seemed to understand him.

"Anyway, I don't want to bite you," it said. "I'm looking for mice. Or rats. Or perhaps a squirrel or two?"

"We don't have mice. My mummy would freak. She keeps the house extra-clean so we don't get them."

"Don't suppose you could . . . drop a few crumbs here and there, to attract them?"

"I'll try. What's it like being a snake?"

"What's it like being a human?"

"I heard a story once that said that snakes used to have arms and legs. Do you miss them?"

The snake looked up with a curious expression, one not usually found on a snake. "Dunno. Never had them. Legs seem complicated, anyway. I get by just fine by slithering along."

""Yeah, looks like fun. If I tried that, my mum would yell at me for getting dirty. But you live in the dirt, don't you?"

""Adam, what are you doing?"

He jumped and turned around to find his mother standing there, hands on her hips. "Um . . . just talking to the snake."

"Talking to the snake?"

"Yeah."

"Like Harry Potter?"

"Sort of like that, I guess. Does that mean I'm a wizard?"

She smiled. Arthur had no tolerance for foolishness, but Deirdre was willing to let the child play. "I suppose we'll find out," she said, "on your eleventh birthday."

"When an owl brings my letter."

"Don't like owls," said the snake. "One of 'em stole a fresh mouse from me once."

"Oh!" Deirdre waved her hands at the snake in a shooing motion. "Get away, you!"

"It's okay, Mum," said Adam. "He's just saying that he doesn't like owls."

"Fine, fine. Now come in before you get your new school clothes dirty."

"Okay. Bye!" he called to the snake, who turned and slithered off toward the hedge.

Adam never thought it was particularly unusual that he could talk to animals. He thought everyone could do it. But he wasn't limited to understanding animal language; he could also understand any human language spoken on the face of the Earth, no matter how obscure. He didn't know how he knew them, he just did. And it didn't bother him. He thought everyone was like him.

It wasn't until he went to school that Adam learned just how different he was from ordinary people. But the real weirdness didn't start till he was eleven. That was when everything changed.

* * *

"I want to go to school," Freddie said when he was safely back in his bed in Papa's bookshop.

Aziraphale was in the middle of taking off his Brother Francis disguise, and he turned round with the fake teeth in his hand. "Oh? I thought we agreed you'd have a tutor."

"Warlock's going to school. He says they sing songs and color all day."

"We can do that. I have lots of coloring books for you."

"But then we won't be together! I want us to always be together! Please, Papa!"

"Well, I'll have to talk to your . . . mother about this, of course. If she says it's all right, then you can go."

"But it's day after tomorrow! Please can I go? Pleeeeeeease?" He put on a sad face with big, pleading eyes. Aziraphale didn't stand a chance.

"You wait here, dear. I'll call and ask her right now."

"I like Mummy better as a man. Tell her to be a man. Lots of kids have two daddies. I want my daddy back."

Aziraphale wasn't sure what to say to this. "You go to sleep now, dear. I'll talk to your . . . um . . . we'll talk, and I'll let you know in the morning. Okay?"

"Okay, Papa."

He left the room as quietly as he could, went downstairs, and called Crowley's mobile.

"We've got a problem," he said.

* * *

Crowley had his own problems; he was currently being let go.

"I'm sure you understand it's not personal," Thad Dowling told him. "But with Warlock in school, we really don't need you here full-time. We wish you the best of luck in finding a position elsewhere."

"I understand," said Crowley, thinking, _You self-righteous prig. _

There was a quick burst of music as his phone rang.

"Oh, go ahead," said Dowling. "We're pretty much done here."

"I'll just be a minute." He stepped out of the room and answered the call. "Angel? What's wrong?"

_"It's Freddie. He wants to go to school."_

"I thought we agreed-"

_"Yes, yes, I know, but he wants to be with his best friend. Surely you can't refuse him on those grounds?"_

"We'll talk about it when I get there."

_"There's something else-"_

"Yes, all right, I'll see you in a bit." He hung up despite the angel's protests and rejoined his now former employer. "Sorry about that. Little . . . family problem. You know how it is."

"I suppose so."

"Would I be permitted to . . . say goodbye to Warlock before I go?"

"Of course. Then you're to collect your things and go. Do I need to have Security escort you off the property?"

"No, I can find my own way out, thank you." _I could snap my fingers right this second and you would dissolve into a pile of goo on the carpet, but I won't. Only because of Warlock. You're lucky I love him as much as my own boy._

Warlock was in bed when Crowley knocked on the door. "Hello, love," he said. "I just came to tell you . . . goodbye."

"Goodbye?" The boy sat up suddenly, terror on his face. "You're **leaving**?"

"I'm sorry, pet. It's time for me to go. You're a big boy now, and you'll be in school and won't need me around."

"I'll always love you, Nanny."

Crowley bent down and gave his charge a hug. "I'll tell you a secret," he whispered. "I'm still going to see you every day. Freddie's going to be in school with you, and I'll arrange for him to come here after school and play with you, and then I'll pick him up later. Does that sound like fun?"

"Oh, Nanny! It's the best!"

"I might look a little different next time you see me, but it'll still be me. So don't be afraid."

"I won't."

"And remember what I told you: this world is yours for the taking. No one ever ruled the world by being wishy-washy. So stand up and demand what's yours. You have a right, because of who you are."

"Okay, Nanny."

"I love you, child."

"I love you too, Nanny."

* * *

Two days later, Warlock and Freddie went together to school, spent the entire day together, and when it was time to go, they both went in the limo back to Warlock's house.

And that was where Daddy (Freddie could call him Daddy now, since he was a man again) picked him up just before dinnertime. He didn't come in; he just parked the car outside the gates and honked the horn. If you had asked Crowley why he didn't want to walk to the door, he would probably have said something about not wanting to bother the Dowlings or their household staff. That wasn't it at all. The truth was, he was afraid that once he set eyes on Warlock, he would want to scoop the boy up in his arms and take him away with them. So he sat in the car and drummed on the steering wheel in time with the famous bass line from "Under Pressure," and waited for Freddie to come out.

It was a few minutes before the door opened and Freddie came out, looking back and waving goodbye to Warlock. His school bag slipped off his shoulder and scattered papers all over the ground, and he ran to catch them all before they blew away. Once they were all collected, he zipped them into the bag and went to the car.

"How was school?" Daddy asked.

"It was great!" For the entire ride home, the boy gushed about his school and his teacher and the other kids in the class. He was so happy that a sunbeam broke free of the clouds overhead and shone down directly onto the car, following them all the way home. Crowley had to adjust his mirrors so he wasn't blinded.

He was happy that Freddie was happy. Really, he was. He just thought it was odd that a child destined to be the Antichrist should be so . . . **happy** all the time. It was un-demonlike. Or at least, unlike the demons Crowley knew, who were miserable pretty much all the time, and did their best to pass that misery on to humans in various ways.

Not Freddie, though. He was the happiest, most well-adjusted child Crowley had ever known. Something didn't add up.

But maybe that was a good thing. Six years from now, when the Great Moment came, this happy child would want nothing to do with the Apocalypse. Which was exactly their plan all along.

So why didn't it feel right?

* * *

Aziraphale was waiting for them with tea and biscuits. It was Tuesday and the shop was closed; they went up the steps and through the back door into the flat above the shop. Freddie liked the back staircase; it was almost like a secret passage from a mystery story.

"How was school, dear boy?"

"Oh, Papa, everything was so nice! My teacher likes me, and the other kids all wanted to play with me, and-"

"I'm glad you liked it, dear. Daddy and I were so worried that you wouldn't like it."

"I sang Sarah Moose, too! But not the first part. My teacher said not to do the first part."

"Yes, it's not really a song for school, is it?" Crowley nodded while, over the boy's head, giving Aziraphale a particular look.

"And we had some of the pink biscuits, and apple juice, and then we had a nap!"

"Naps are fun, aren't they? You stay here, love, while Papa and I talk about something."

Freddie wasn't sure why Daddy and Papa had to leave the room to talk. Had he done something wrong? What if they said that he couldn't go to school anymore? He'd never see Warlock again!

When they came back, Daddy said, "Freddie Bear, how would you feel about coming to live with me for a while?"

Uh oh. "Leave Papa? But he'll be lonely!"

"Oh, we'll still see each other, dear. You can come over any time you like. You just won't be sleeping here."

"I've got a nice room at my place," Daddy told him, "with a skylight and lots of plants for you to help take care of. How does that sound?"

Freddie looked from Daddy, who seemed nervous and excited, to Papa, who was a bit worried, and wasn't sure what to say. "I . . . guess so. Will I still be able to go to school?"

"Even better, I live right near your school, so I'll be able to drop you off in the morning. Okay, love? Grab anything you want to bring with you and we'll leave right now."

"Can't Papa come with us?"

"Oh, no, dear," said Papa. "I've got to stay and take care of the shop. I'll be fine; don't you worry about me. I'll help you pack up your things. Don't forget your _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_." He slipped the book, still marked from where they had stopped reading the night before, into a paper shopping bag, along with Freddie's socks and underwear and some of his everyday clothes.

It wasn't easy for him to do. Freddie had been living in the flat above the bookshop for his whole life, and Aziraphale had gotten used to having him underfoot. But Crowley had said that Freddie needed to be with him, to correct an imbalance in his personality.

"You know what imprinting is?" Crowley had said.

"Yes, it's when baby birds recognize the first creature they lay eyes on as their mother."

"You were the first person Freddie saw when he opened his eyes. I think he thinks he's an angel."

"Isn't that a good thing? We want him **not **to be evil."

"Yes, but we don't want him veering off too far in the other direction, though. Bring him back to center, so to speak. He'll spend some more time with me and learn how to be a proper demon, and that should cancel out the angel in him."

"I think it's a dreadful thing to do to a little boy."

"It's not like he won't ever see you. We'll drop by as often as we can. He can use that desk in the corner to do his homework."

"What desk?" Aziraphale turned round in time to see a small wooden desk with matching chair suddenly appear where no desk had been before. "Crowley! Don't go rearranging my furniture!"

"It'll be good for him in the long run. Worked for Warlock, didn't it? We pushed from one end and pulled from the other, and brought him smack into the middle. He'll be fine."

Aziraphale just shook his head and said, "I hope you're right. And the boys will be a good influence on each other, of course."

"Absolutely. Everything will be fine."

"And six years from now, when . . . **it** . . . happens . . ."

"He'll be able to tell the Apocalypse to bugger off."

"Right. That's that, then."

He still wasn't entirely convinced it was the right thing to do, as he packed Freddie's meager possessions into the bag. But he had to trust Crowley.

Crowley was the one who had it all figured out.


	3. Chapter 3

It really was a wonderful birthday party, right up until the magician started his act.

Technically it was Warlock's birthday party, but since it was Freddie's birthday too, Warlock had insisted on having a cake for him as well. Some of the kids had brought presents for both of them. Not that Freddie really cared. He'd had his birthday dinner the night before, with Dad and Papa at a fancy restaurant that wasn't quite the Ritz but was a step or two above their usual family place.

So far, it had been a really nice day. It wasn't too hot for them to sit outside and sip punch and occasionally wave to their parents, sequestered in a mesh tent off to the side of the grounds. Freddie had looked for either Papa or Dad, both of whom had said that they would be here, but hadn't seen either. Strange.

Then the magician came out onto the makeshift stage under the white canopy. Freddie recognized him and grimaced. It was his Papa, disguised in a battered top hat and eyebrow-pencil mustache. Papa was absolute rubbish at magic. He would try to make a quarter appear from Freddie's ear, flick his fingers at the wrong moment, and drop it on the floor. This was going to be a disaster.

He turned and looked over his shoulder at the Secret Service agents pretending to be waiters, and there was his dad, right in the middle of them. Wordlessly he tried to send a message-_Stop this, please! He's embarrassing himself!-_but as Freddie did not have the gift of telepathy, the message was not received.

The act went terribly. The other children at the party booed and jeered. One boy that Freddie didn't know seized up the platter of cream cakes that was supposed to be for later and started throwing them. This prompted all sorts of thrown foodstuffs, some while still in the process of being eaten.

Freddie ran for cover. He held up his Good Suit Jacket to try and block the worst of the missiles, and only succeeded in having it covered with frosting. Finally he reached his Papa.

"Let's get in the car!" he suggested, over the sounds of general mayhem.

"Not yet!" Papa said. "The dog's supposed to show up at three o'clock. You remember what to do when the dog arrives?"

Freddie nodded. They had been over this again and again in the weeks leading up to his birthday. "If any strange dogs come up to me, just send them away. Don't talk to them. Don't name them. ."

"Good boy. Any moment now . . ."

They hid behind the car and waited for Dad to come with the keys. It took him forever to cross the minefield that the party grounds had become. The tent had collapsed, trapping two Secret Service waiters beneath it. The rest were trying to restore some sort of order.

"Did you send the dog away?" Dad demanded, as he opened the car and they hurriedly climbed inside.

"No," said Papa. "It hasn't shown up yet. Should we wait a few more minutes?"

"It's five past three already. You know they're very punctual."

"So it's not coming."

"Doesn't look like it."

"**Why **can't I have a dog?" Freddie asked. "You never said."

Dad gave him a look. "I never said you can't have **a **dog, just not any dog that shows up today. I'll explain when we get home."

"I didn't even get to eat my birthday cake."

"We'll buy you a new cake on the way home, dear," said Papa.

"It won't be green."

"We'll find a green one. Should we be off, then? It's obvious that there will be no dog today. We might as well go home."

Dad was staring out into the road as if he expected a dog to appear out of thin air. "It doesn't make sense," he said, almost to himself. "We've got the right boy. The time is at hand. Why didn't the dog turn up? Where did it go?"

Just then, the radio crackled to life. "**_Crowley_**," a deep voice said. It didn't sound like a radio announcer.

"Oh, blessed Heaven above," Dad moaned. The way he said it, it sounded like a curse word.

**_"_****_Crowley, the time is at hand. Armageddon has begun. The boy's family will be called away to the Middle East, to the plains of Meggido where the battle is to take place. Soon the Four Horsemen will ride out upon the earth. Has the dog been delivered?"_**

"What?"

**_"_****_The dog, Crowley. The hellhound. By now he should have found the boy and bonded with him. Is the dog there?"_**

"What? Oh, yes, yes-I see him now! Great, big, huge beast, lots of teeth, big slavering jaws. Yep, the dog's here."

**_"_****_Excellent. Wait for further instructions." _** The radio fell silent for a moment, and then began to play "Another One Bites the Dust."

"What was that about, Dad?" Freddie asked. "Who was that?"

"Erm, that was, that was Daddy's boss. Sort of. Um, Freddie . . . we're going to have a long talk about this when we get home."

"After I have my cake."

"All right, fine, after the cake. I don't understand it. We did everything right. Why no dog? The boy is here. The dog should have come straight to him. Where the bloody heaven is the dog?"

* * *

The dog was several miles away, in the village of Tadfield, stalking another boy whose birthday happened to be today. This boy, you may have already guessed, was Adam Young.

Adam liked to hang out in the woods with his friends, who collectively called themselves The Them. Other names for their little social club never seemed to stick, and they always ended up back at The Them. So they'd given up trying.

The woods were full of life, mostly small animals trying to get on with their small animal lives and not be eaten by larger animals. Adam had gradually learned to tune out their squeaks and chirps and not become distracted by all the different animal conversations around him. It would be excellent practice, he thought, for going out into the real world and having to deal with a lot of people. It was what his parents wanted for him, anyway. They wanted him to go off to University and become something important.

Adam was perfectly happy right where he was, thank you. Tadfield was all the world he needed.

This morning he'd awoken with the certainty, in the back of his mind, that he would be getting a dog for his birthday. He couldn't remember his parents mentioning it, but he must have overheard them talking about it at some point, when he wasn't in the room and they thought he couldn't hear them.

He was telling his friends all about it when they heard noises in the brush.

"Is that it?" asked Pepper. Pepper was a girl, and took great care to remind the boys of this quite often, as if it was something they might forget. Her given name was Pippin Galadriel Moonchild, and anyone who laughed or referred to this name in any way soon found themselves on the receiving end of ninety pounds of white-hot fury. When they had met, in their first year of school, Adam had made the mistake of snickering at Pepper's name. It had taken two teachers and an aide to pull her off him, and they had both ended up in the nurse's office with bloody noses.

"That sounds a lot bigger than a dog," said Wensleydale. His given name was Jeremy, but no one called him that, not even his parents. "It sounds more like a bear."

"Don't be stupid," said Pepper. "There aren't any bears in England. Not anymore."

"Cause the climate's changing," said Brian. He had heard something about climate change on the news when he was passing, and had found a way to work it into every conversation since then. It was getting annoying.

"If it is a dog," said Pepper, "it's a big one. A mastiff or a Rottweiler, I think."

"I don't want a big dog," said Adam. "Big dogs are too much trouble to feed and keep clean. I want a little dog, one that I can have fun with."

There was the pop of displaced air as a huge hellhound became a much smaller dog.

"We'll have lots of fun, chasing rabbits, and getting into mischief," Adam mused. "He'll be a good dog and stick by my side always. And I'll call him . . ."

There was a moment of absolute silence, as the whole universe seemed to be waiting to see what Adam would name his dog.

"I'll call him Dog," Adam decided. "Saves a lot of trouble, a name like that."

And the earth turned, once more, toward oblivion.

* * *

"I don't get it," Crowley said. He threw the white cake box onto the coffee table and sat down heavily. "We did everything right. The dog should have shown up. How did it go wrong?"

"The dog **did **appear," said Aziraphale. "Just not to **our **boy. You felt it, didn't you, when he named it?"

"Yeah."

"So there is a dog, and a boy . . . just not here. Somewhere else."

"But **how**?"

"Can I have my cake now?" Freddie asked.

"Sure," Crowley said off-handedly. "Angel, cut it up for him, will you?"

"I can cut a cake," Freddie said. "I'm not a baby. Want a piece?"

"I'll pass, thanks."

Aziraphale peered down at the open box. "Is that coconut? Oh, I do adore coconut! I'll have some, if you don't mind, dear."

Freddie got a knife from the kitchen and carefully cut two pieces. He served them on plates with real doilies that Crowley hadn't known he even had. The kid was so like Aziraphale that it was almost scary. No demon child should be so . . . angelic.

Maybe that was why the dog hadn't found him.

But where had it **gone**?

* * *

Several hours later, when Freddie was getting ready for bed and Papa was about to head home, Dad suddenly said, "What if there was another boy?"

"What other boy?" asked Papa.

"There was a man waiting outside when I came to drop off the-" He broke off and looked over at Freddie. "The other one."

"The other **what**?" Freddie asked.

Dad ignored him. "He had the look of an expectant father. It wasn't Dowling; he wasn't even in the country at the time. So there had to have been another couple . . . another child. And that child is the one. The Plan decided that Freddie wasn't suitable, for whatever reason-"

"Dad, what's going on?"

Again, his dad continued as if he hadn't heard. "So where is this child? We have to find him. And we have three days to do it. Once Downstairs finds out what I did, I'm dead. Not just discorporated. Dead for good."

"They'll have records, of course, at this hospital," said Papa. "We can go and find out."

"Right. Go get in the car. I'll be right down."

"Oh, we can't go now! We can't leave the boy alone! We might be hours."

"He'll be asleep. It's fine."

"No, you can't! What if something happens? We'll go first thing in the morning. Well, after breakfast. I'll bring some of those pastries you like."

"Fine, fine. See you then."

Freddie gave up asking what was going on, finally deciding that whatever it was, he'd figure it out sooner or later. He slipped on his favorite Danger Mouse pajamas and got into bed.

Presently, Dad came back from walking Papa to the door. "You asleep yet?"

"No."

"It wasn't a bad birthday, was it? I mean, you had a nice party."

"Promise me one thing?"

Dad swept the stuff stacked on the bedside chair to the floor and sat down. "Sure. What?"

"Don't ever, **ever **let Papa do his magic act in public again!"

* * *

The next morning, after breakfast, Dad and Papa went out somewhere. Freddie wasn't sure exactly where, only that they wouldn't be long, and he was not to leave the flat unless it was on fire.

"If anyone calls or comes looking for me," said Dad, "don't tell them I'm out. Tell them I'm in the shower. Take names and numbers, and tell them I'll call them back."

"Who's going to come looking for you, Dad?" Freddie asked. "That man on the radio?"

"Never mind who," Dad snapped. "Just don't let anyone in that you don't personally know. Keep the door locked. If we're not back by lunchtime, there's some leftover Chinese in the fridge."

"We'll bring you back something nice," Papa promised.

After they left, Freddie spent the morning watering and feeding his plants. Freddie's room was full of plants. They had been there before he was, most of them; some had been moved to the roof to make room for Freddie and his things, but most were still there, and it was his job to look after them. He loved his plants, though he wasn't allowed to give them names.

The doorbell buzzed.

Freddie waited for his dad to get it until he remembered that his dad wasn't there, and he went out to the panel and pressed the button. "Who's there?"

"It's me."

"Warlock?"

"Can I come up?"

Freddie hesitated. He wasn't supposed to have people up when his dad wasn't there. On the other hand, this was his best friend; surely he could trust him. "Yeah, c'mon. I'll get the door."

He went to the front door and unlocked it just as Warlock made it up the stairs, dragging a heavy sack behind him.

"You left so suddenly yesterday," he said, "that you forgot all your presents. And what's left of the cake. I think there's still half the Hogwarts logo on it."

"Thanks," Freddie said. "You didn't have to do that."

They stood there awkwardly for a moment, and then Freddie said, "You wanna stay and watch a movie or something?"

"Can't. I'm supposed to be getting on a plane in an hour."

"Cool! Where're you going?"

"Someplace in the Middle East. Some archaeological site that Dad needs to do a photo op at. Mum says it'll be educational."

"Well, have a good trip," said Freddie. "Bring me back a . . . fossil or something."

"I don't think it's that kind of dig site. But maybe I'll get you a T-shirt from the airport. Since we're birthday buddies and everything."

"Thanks. See if you can get one with a Minion on it."

"I don't know if they even do Minions out there, but sure, I'll try."

Another silence descended upon them. It seemed that there was something that needed to be said between them, but neither of them wanted to be the first to speak and thus bring it into the world.

There was a car horn from outside.

"I've got to go," said Warlock.

"Don't," said Freddie.

The world seemed a very long way away at that point. It faded off into the distance, and all that was left in the universe was the two boys, standing together staring at each other.

"You don't have to do what they want," Freddie continued. "Or be what they want you to be. You be your own person. Go where you're meant to be. Do what you want. They can't stop us."

The car horn sounded again, a bit longer and louder than before.

"I'd better go. See you in a few days, dude."

"Have a good time."

He went out and slammed the door behind him. When he got to street level, his father was standing there holding the limo door open for him, a scowl on his face.

"Let's **go**, Warlock! We needed to be at the airport half an hour ago! I only let you stop off and say goodbye to your little friend because it's a private jet and it won't leave without us! Now come on!"

Warlock stood there for a moment, staring at his father, and thinking: _This is what happens to you when you spend your whole life doing what other people want. I don't think he's ever made a decision without worrying how it will look to everyone else. This is not what I want to be._

"You hear me, buddy? Get a move on!"

Warlock shook himself and climbed into the limo, sliding over beside his mother. His father got in on the other side of him and shut the door.

"That's more like it. You're going to like Meggido. There are ruins there that are supposed to be six thousand years old!"

Warlock was only half-listening, already planning his escape.

* * *

Freddie's dad didn't get home until quite late at night. By then, Freddie was in bed, but he wasn't quite asleep. He could never go to sleep until his dad sang to him, even at the advanced age of eleven years and one day. He heard the front door open and close, and he relaxed into his blue silk sheets (he hated them, but Dad said only the best for his boy). A moment later, his bedroom door opened a crack.

"Hey, kid, you still awake?"

"Hi, Dad."

Dad came into the room and pulled the chair over beside his bed. He had to clear a lot of stuff off it before he could sit down. "Think it's about time for you to give this place a good tidying."

"Mm hmm."

"In the morning, then. You'll do it tomorrow morning."

"Mm hmm. Sing?"

"All right."

And his dad began to sing.

_"Time waits for nobody,_

_Time waits for nobody._

_We've got to build this world together_

_or we'll have no more future at all._

_Time . . . waits for nobody."_

Freddie was asleep before the end of the first verse, and the word that reverberated through his dreams was _together_.

_"__Together . . . build it together . . . do it together . . ."_

* * *

At about this same time, in a taxi he had hailed at London's smallest airport, Warlock Dowling was arriving in Tadfield. He was on his own, with only one small suitcase between him and the world.

He hadn't meant for it to be this way. But when the limo had arrived at the airport, and his parents had ushered him towards the waiting government jet, Warlock had found himself thinking of what Freddie had said to him.

_Go where you're meant to be. Be your own person._

And he'd had a strong feeling that where he was actually meant to be, at this moment, was somewhere a long way away from here, not on a plane with his parents.

Just as he was about to step up into the plane itself, he stopped and looked out into the distance, and then he calmly climbed back down the stairs, walked over to the taxi stand on the far side of the runway, and told the driver to take him to Tadfield.

"What, on your own?" the driver asked.

"I'm meeting family," Warlock said. He didn't know why he had said it, but it seemed the right thing to say.

"Tadfield it is, then." The driver pulled out without looking in his rear-view mirror. If he had, he would have seen Thad and Harriet Dowling frantically chasing after the cab, trying to catch up with Warlock and bring him back.

They didn't even get close.

By the time they called the police and reported their son had been kidnapped (because it would get more attention than if he had simply run away), Warlock was well on his way to an accidental meeting that would change his life.

The driver asked for an address once they passed into Tadfield proper. Warlock opened his mouth to say that he didn't know, when he found himself saying, "Jasmine Cottage, please."

"Where's that, then?"

"Straight ahead, then turn left at the statue." Again, Warlock wondered how he knew this. It was as if he was remembering something that he'd momentarily forgotten.

The driver made the requisite turn, and shortly they found themselves in front of a pleasant-looking country home. There was a light on inside, and faintly, Warlock could see someone moving about.

"This will be fine," he said. "Thank you." He handed the driver a fifty-pound note that his father had given him for spending money on their trip.

"Want me to wait while you see if they're in?"

"No, thanks. I know she'll let me in." _She? _How did he know that the person waiting for him at Jasmine Cottage was a she? But it was as if he had always known. He grabbed his suitcase and exited the taxi.

Then he stood at the door, wondering who the mysterious resident within was, and whether she really would let him in. He knocked, twice.

"Coming!" called a voice.

It wasn't Nanny. He'd been expecting Nanny. This person was younger-not that Nanny was terribly old. But he heard a sharp clack of high-heeled boots on hardwood, and just for a second he dared to hope.

The person who opened the door was much younger than Nanny. Not much more than a girl, really. She wore long skirts, like Nanny, and she even wore glasses, but unlike Nanny's, these were ordinary reading glasses.

"Yes?" she said. "Can I help you? Are you lost?"

"No," said Warlock. "I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm Warlock," he said. "Warlock Dowling. And I'm meant to be right here."

She stared at him, eyes wide behind her glasses. "Did you say your name was Warlock?"

"Yes, that's my name."

"Come in, come in!" She ushered him inside and then grabbed something off a table. "Here it is. Prophecy Number Two-Five-Eight-Three:

_The Warlock shall come by night, and ye must hide him well, for without him there cannot be Three. And Three shall stand together against the ending of the World._

"What does that mean?" Warlock asked.

"It means," she said, "that you're staying here for the time being. Agnes said so, and Agnes never lies."

"Is that your name? Agnes?"

"No. No, she was an ancestor of mine. My name is Anathema. Anathema Device."

"Oh." Having grown up with a name like Warlock, he didn't think Anathema was at all unusual. In fact, he thought it was kind of pretty.

"Are you here on your own, Warlock?"

He ducked his head and blushed. "I sort of ran away from my parents. They were taking me to some archaeological site in the Middle East, and it wasn't where I was meant to go. So I came here instead."

"I see. Well, let me go get a pillow and a blanket for the couch. There's only the one bed, you see."

"That's fine. Wouldn't want to turn you out of your own bed. Um, what are all these cards for?"

"They're notes, of a sort. See, my ancestor, Agnes Nutter, wrote a book of prophecies over three hundred years ago. And now they're all coming true."

"Are they?"

"She foresaw you coming here, didn't she? Do you have your toothbrush?"

"Yes, I do. And pajamas, and clothes for tomorrow. Beyond that, I might have to do some washing."

"I don't think," said Anathema, "that you'll have to worry about that. Go get changed, I'll make up the couch for you. It's late; you really should be in bed."

"Thank you for letting me stay."

"Just don't touch any of my notes. I **think **I've got them all in order, but I'm not really sure. It's hard to know just what Agnes is talking about until it actually happens."

"What's this thing here? A telescope?"

"That's a theodolite. It's for measuring ley lines."

"What are those?"

"You know what? We'll talk about it in the morning. I'll be happy to explain everything to you once we've both had some sleep. Wait here and I'll fix up the couch for you."

In no time at all, Warlock was stretched out on the couch, which was surprisingly comfortable for secondhand furniture. He didn't think about what his parents would say if they found out he'd spent the night in a strange woman's house. He didn't even wonder what she had meant when she said he needn't worry about having clean laundry in two days.

In his dreams, he was with two other people, and they were doing a Very Important Thing. He didn't remember, when he woke up, what it was that they were doing, but he knew it was important, and that he had to find them. The voices he had heard in his dreams had told him so.

_Find them . . . be together . . . do it together . . . make it happen . . ._

* * *

Freddie's dad dropped him at Papa's bookshop on Friday morning, but Papa didn't answer the door. Dad tried calling him on the phone. He kept getting the answering machine.

"I know you're in there, Aziraphale!" Dad called through the door. "Open up, it's me!"

Still no answer.

"You have a key, don't you, Dad?" Freddie asked. "We should go in and make sure he's okay. He might need help."

"He can't-" Dad started to say, and then stopped. "No, I don't have a key."

"Why not? He has a key to your place."

"Yes, my home. This is his place of business. I can't just break in like . . ."

Freddie sighed and pushed on the door. It opened right away. "See? It wasn't even locked."

"He forgot to lock it? Where is he?" Dad called out to him. "Aziraphale! For Go-Sa-Someone's sake, are you here or not?"

Finally, there was an answer.

"I'm terribly busy, Crowley! Whatever it is, it can wait!"

"I'm just dropping off the kid. You promised to watch him while I go meet with . . . someone important."

"Yes, all right! Hello, Freddie dear. I'm afraid I'm going to be terribly busy for a while. You can sit down here and read, or you can go upstairs. Your choice."

"I think I'll go upstairs," Freddie said. He had his phone out and was playing Space Invaders. "Let me know when it's time for lunch."

He went upstairs to Papa's small flat and perched himself on the couch, his feet up on the coffee table (since no one was around to tell him not to). After a little while playing games, he stretched out and went to sleep.

When he woke up, the entire place was on fire.

* * *

Warlock was having a Quiet Day.

He had helped Anathema put her cards in order, and then some local kids had come over.

"Do you have any more of those New Aquariums?" the lead boy, who was blond and blue-eyed just like Warlock, asked.

Warlock got a funny feeling when he looked at this boy, like he knew him from somewhere. But that was impossible. He'd never been to Tadfield before. Except when he was born; his mum had told him he'd been born in a little maternity hospital in Tadfield, but of course he didn't remember it.

"Of course," said Anathema. "Come on in."

There were four of them: besides the blond boy, there was a girl in a red slicker, a boy with glasses and boots that were a bit too big for him, and another boy in a grubby hoodie and sneakers with the laces dangling, untied. They looked like they all fit together somehow.

"Hi," Warlock said.

"Hello," said the blond boy. "I'm Adam. This is Pepper, Wensleydale, and Brian."

"My name's Warlock."

"Bit of a funny name," said Pepper. "You don't sound like you're from around here."

"Oh, I am. Least, I was born here. My mum says so, anyway. But my parents are American. They've lived here since before I was born."

"So you've never actually been to America?" asked Wensley.

"I have once. We met the President. Not the one now, the one before him. He was nice. He let me sit in his chair and everything."

"I don't believe you," said Pepper. "You'd have to be someone important to meet a President. They don't just let any old body in to meet a President."

"My dad's-" Warlock started to say, and then he thought better of it. If anyone found out who his dad was, and that Warlock had run away, they'd call the police. Or worse, call his parents. He really didn't want to have to face them. Not just yet. Not till it was done.

Whatever "it" was.

"Here we are," said Anathema, and she handed the kids a bunch of old magazines with lurid headlines like IS BIGFOOT RESPONSIBLE FOR RISE IN WEREWOLF POPULATION IN MINNESOTA? And ATLANTIS WILL RISE! EXPERTS PREDICT.

"Thanks, Anathema," said Adam. "We'll bring them back tomorrow. Or whenever."

"Take your time," she said. "No rush." Then she looked at Warlock meaningfully.

He failed to grasp her meaning at first glance, but when she mouthed "Go play with them," the message was received.

"Can I come with you?" he asked.

They stopped halfway to the door. "Come where?" asked Adam.

"Wherever it is you're going. Can I . . . help?"

Adam looked back at him for a long moment. "Nothing we really need help with, I think. Thanks anyway. We'll be back when we're done with these. Maybe we'll have a cup of cocoa or something."

"My Nanny used to make a great cup of cocoa," said Warlock. "I miss her."

"When did she die?"

"Oh, she's not dead. She just stopped working for us."

"So she wasn't your grandmother?" asked Brian.

"No. Does it matter?"

"We'll see you tomorrow, Warlock," said Adam. "Let's go."

* * *

Crowley's meeting with his operative, Shadwell, went generally well. He'd met Shadwell back in the Sixties, when he was planning a heist that had somehow never come off. Shadwell had volunteered the services of the Witchfinder Army, of which he was a proud corporal. Crowley hadn't known there still was a Witchfinder Army. There was; Shadwell was it. He pretended there were others, and Crowley went along with it because Shadwell was useful to have on the payroll and not afraid to get his hands dirty.

He'd returned to the flat and turned on the TV, only to see Hastur's rotting face glaring out at him.

"Where is the boy, Crowley?" the Duke of Hell demanded.

"Boy? What boy? I don't know what you're talking ab-"

"The bloody Antichrist!" Ligur roared. "He's supposed to be in Meggido for the start of the whole thing, and he's not!"

"Maybe his flight was delayed."

Hastur sneered and waved his hand. A small picture-in-picture appeared, showing part of a TV news broadcast.

_". . . the son of the American ambassador has been reportedly kidnapped by person or persons unknown. Warlock Dowling, age eleven, went missing last night. It is currently unknown whether this was a terrorist action._

_"Warlock Dowling is four feet ten inches tall, has blond hair and blue eyes, and was last seen-"_

The small image contracted and winked out.

"Where," Hastur said very slowly and distinctly, "is the boy, Crowley?"

"You think **I've **got him? What would I do that for?"

"I know all about you, oh yes! You and that-that-"

"Angel," Ligur interjected.

"A representative of the other side! You've been seen meeting regularly in St. James' Park! What are you plotting?"

"Nothing! I'm not plotting anything! Truth be told, I've been trying to tempt him over to our side for centuries! I've told him we have all the best music, but he's not interested. And now it's too late. It's all over. Finito. The end. Game Over."

"You find him," said Hastur, "or we'll find you. And you won't like that."

The TV screen went dark.

No. No, he wouldn't like that. Demons were not known for being terribly clever, except when it came to new forms of torture. Like reality television.

Crowley didn't really care much if they tortured him-he'd survived worse things, like disco and that awful period when brightly-colored neon clothing was in fashion-but if they got hold of Freddie . . .

He should go right over to Aziraphale's and pick him up.

Or would that be leading them right to him?

Someone rang the bell.

Crowley almost didn't answer it. He knew it wouldn't be good. It might not be Hastur and Ligur already, but it was probably someone else from Hell, righteously pissed at his failure to locate the Antichrist. There would be retribution. Probably not involving neon clothing.

Well, let it come. He was ready for it.

He moved a painting aside, revealing a small wall safe, and deftly turned the dial right, then left, then right again. The lock clicked, and the door opened.

You might think that a man-well, a being-like Crowley might keep valuables in this safe. Stock certificates, perhaps. A few precious mementoes of a very, very long life. There was none of that.

Inside the safe was one tartan-wrapped Thermos bottle full of holy water. To a demon, it was a deadly chemical, and Crowley treated it as such: he carefully donned heavy rubber gloves and safety goggles before removing the Thermos from the safe with the aid of long barbecue tongs.

He maneuvered the Thermos to his desk, where he opened it very carefully and poured the liquid into a bright red fire bucket, careful not to splash any around.

It was then that the door buzzed again. "Crowley," a female voice said, "it's me!"

It was the last person he had ever expected to see or hear from again. It was Freddie's mum. "Laura? Hang on, I'll be right there."

He set the bucket aside for a moment and went to answer the door.

The Whore of Babylon was currently using the name Laura Miller, and pretending to be an Australian businesswoman. She had the accent to go with it, which Crowley hated because when she said his name it came out sounding like _Crawly, _and he'd left all that behind a long time ago.

He went to the door and let her in. Laura was tall with blonde hair bleached by the Aussie sun and skin that owed its paleness to a fantastic new invention called sunblock. He hadn't seen her in eleven years, since the night she'd handed off Freddie and then did a runner, and he hadn't expected to see her again. It wasn't like they had an actual **relationship**.[1]

"Where is he?" she asked.

"Hello, Crowley, how are you? I'm fine, thanks, how are you, Laura? I'm fine. Is Freddie in? He's well, too, thanks for asking. Actually, he's at a friend's house, and would a little politeness hurt?"

She glared at him. "You sent him away? Why did you send him away?"

"You think he's in danger?"

"I know he is! It's starting, you know it's all starting now."

"What, Armageddon? Yes, I'm aware of that."

"Crowley." She reached up and took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were completely red. Not the red of someone who's been up too late and needs a good dose of Visine, but the burning red of a flaming furnace, filling the entire socket. "I have something important to tell you."

"Well, go on."

"Freddie . . ."

"What about him?" he asked.

"He isn't yours."

For a second he thought she'd found out about the switch, and then he saw from her face that she wasn't angry, only sad and resolved. And then he realized what she meant. "Oh. Oh! So . . . why did you tell me he was?"

"I wanted to keep them apart! According to the prophecy, they have to be together in order for it all to work, and I thought if he was with you, then it wouldn't happen. You see . . . I like it up here too. It's a lot more fun than . . . where we're from."

Crowley was trying to process what she'd just told him. "So . . . who's Freddie's real dad?"

She gave him a look. "I thought you were supposed to be clever."

And then it hit him. "Twins? Freddie and-the other one?"

"I thought we could stop it if we separated them. We have to keep the two of them apart. If they come together, it all starts. I know you love this world as much as I do, Crowley. You go to this friend's house and you get him and you make sure he never leaves your side, you hear me? Maybe there's still time."

"Yeah, yeah, I was just gonna do that. Um . . . can I drop you somewhere?"

"No," she said, "the taxi's waiting outside. I'm going to the airport to fly home. Get my affairs in order, just in case the plan doesn't come off. Er . . . Crowley? Does he ever ask about me?"

"He did once. He was about four. He asked why he didn't have a mum."

"And what did you tell him?"

"Well, I didn't think I'd ever be seeing you again, and I didn't want to get his hopes up-"

"Crowley!"

"All right, all right! I told him he might not have a mum, but he was the luckiest little boy ever, cause he had a dad **and **a Papa. Not everybody does, you know."

"Papa? You're . . . with someone?"

"Not like that! He's . . . he's just a friend. I should go get Freddie now. Keep him safe, like you said. Really great seeing you again, Laura. Have a nice flight."

"Goodbye, Crowley."

_Slam! _She had moved so fast he hadn't even seen her heading for the door. Oh, well. He grabbed his keys and went out to pick up Freddie.

He arrived at the bookshop to find it on fire.

* * *

The fire brigade tried to stop him rushing in there, but he said, "My kid's in there! I have to get him out!"

"Sir, it's too dangerous! The whole place is about to go up! You'll never make it out!"

Crowley didn't listen. He was fireproof, in any case. He smashed through the front window and called out, "Aziraphale! Freddie!"

"Dad!"

The boy was standing at the top of the stairs, at the back of the shop, looking down at the flames beneath him.

"Where's Papa?"

"I don't know! I woke up, and he was gone, and the place was like this!"

"Okay, we'll find him. Come to me and I'll get you out."

"I can't! It's all on fire!"

"Don't worry about that! Just come to me!" It was a big gamble; Freddie was more angel than demon now, but his basic DNA was one hundred percent demon, and as such, he should be impervious to flame.

"Dad, it's too hot! It'll burn me!"

"Listen to me, Forneus Lucifer Crowley: the fire can't hurt you. Now close your eyes, and just keep coming toward the sound of my voice."

"I can't, Dad!"

"You have to! I'm not leaving you here! Just close your eyes and take a step forward!"

Freddie, shaking so hard Crowley could hear his teeth rattling, closed his eyes, put one hand on the bannister, and stepped forward.

"That's it! That's it! Just keep coming!"

"I'm scared, Dad!"

"I know you are! But you have to keep doing this! Just a little farther!"

One more step. Then another. And another. Crowley held his breath, even though he didn't really need to breathe. The smoke was getting thicker. If the kid froze up again . . .  
And then there was the weight of a small body against his, and he picked the boy up in his arms and started to run toward where the door had been.

"Dad!" Freddie wriggled free and picked something up off the floor. "Papa's book!"

"Leave it! We have to go!"

"No, it's important! He'll be mad if we don't save it!"

Crowley didn't have the heart to tell him that Aziraphale probably wasn't coming back. "All right, fine! But we have to go now!" He scooped the kid up again and ran for the car. He didn't breathe again until they were miles away.

"Dad?" came a shaky, thin voice from the backseat.

"What?"

"How did I do that?"

"You . . . I'll explain later. Let's just go home now."

"Are we going to go find Papa?"

"I don't think," said Crowley, "that where he's gone is someplace we can follow."

He brought Freddie back to the flat, tucked him into bed, and then he went out for some serious drinking.

* * *

[1] Apart from sharing a son.


	5. Chapter 5

Saturday.

The Last Day.

The day on which it was all going to happen.

Freddie woke from a dream of being two people to find that it wasn't going to be a nice day after all. A storm was brewing.

_So much for going to the park, _he thought.

Then he remembered.

_Papa!_

He went running to his father's bedroom and rapped sharply on the door. "Dad? You awake?"

"Nnnhhh," came the sleepy reply. Dad was not a morning person.

"Get up! We have to go find Papa!"

"Wha'?" There was the slither of fabric shifting, and then the door opened. "Freddie, love, I don't know how to tell you, this, but . . . Papa's not coming back. You saw what it was like in that place."

"Maybe he got out in time. I was upstairs; I didn't see what happened."

"I know what happened. They came for him. You may be impervious to Hellfire, but Papa isn't-wasn't. He's gone, Freddie. Discorporated. Maybe for good."

"Disco-what?"

"Never mind. How'd you like to go on a little trip, eh? Across the universe, just me and you."

"Sure, Dad. We'll get in our rocket ship and blast off for Alpha Centauri."

"We don't need a rocket ship. There's something I've got to tell you, Freddie, and it's very important."

"What?"

"It's about what happened last night. Why you could walk through fire."

"What?"

"You're not like other boys, Freddie. I know that Papa and I have always treated you like-"

"Papa," Freddie sighed. "We can't go anywhere without him! It's not fair!"

"We don't have a choice! We have to get off this ball of rock before it goes up like a Roman candle! If you don't want to go to Alpha Centauri, we'll pick somewhere else."

Freddie was about to speak when suddenly a shimmering light appeared in the room, between the two of them. It gradually took shape.

Papa's shape.

"Crowley?" he said, and his voice was like a radio that's not quite tuned in. You can hear the music all right, but there's a lot of static, and sometimes it fades out altogether.

"Aziraphale! How are you here? You were discorporated in the fire . . ."

"Listen! I don't . . . much time. The . . . rist is in Tadfield! You have to . . . Tadfield! It can still be stopped!"

"No, we can't go there! Listen, there's something about Freddie-"

"No . . . time. I'm going to go find . . . a body and meet you there. Still time . . ."

"Aziraphale!" Dad shouted, but Papa was already fading away.

Freddie went to get dressed.

"What are you doing?" Dad called to him.

"Getting ready. We've got to go to Tadfield! The other two are waiting for me!"

"Other **two**? She didn't say there were **three** of you!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Listen, Freddie, we can't go to Tadfield. We just can't."

"But Papa said-"

"I heard what he said! But we can't! The truth is-" Dad came into his room through the half-open door. "The truth, Freddie Bear, is, you've got a brother."

"I know. Warlock's my brother. We swore a blood oath and everything, but we didn't use real blood, we used grape Kool-Aid."

"No, I don't mean Warlock! You . . . you aren't really my son. Your mother gave you to me to protect you from-well, from this day. From what's about to happen in a few hours."

"I don't understand."

"You see, Freddie, you have a twin. He's in Tadfield. And the two of you, together, are the Antichrist."

Freddie looked at his dad for a long moment, sure that he was joking. Any moment now, Dad would smile and say, "Just kidding! How about we go to the movies, huh?"

But Dad looked as serious as Freddie had ever seen him.

"That's not right," Freddie said. "That can't be right."

"I want you to understand that no matter what, I love you-"

"No, not **that** bit. The part about a twin. There's supposed to be three of us. I've heard voices in my head, telling me that the three of us have to come together and make it happen."

"You've heard voices?" said Dad, and Freddie realized that it probably wasn't the best thing to admit. "Since when?"

"Since my birthday. Um . . . I wasn't sure how to tell you . . ."

Dad seized him by the semi-clad shoulders. "Tell me everything. What have the voices been telling you?"

"Three of us, human, demon, and angel, and only we can make it happen."

"Angel?" Dad frowned. "Well, that's that sorted, then. We haven't got our angel. And you're not actually human, you know."

"I know. He's already there. So is the demon. They're waiting for me."

* * *

Crowley stared at the boy in disbelief. How could it be? The twin of a demon was, by default, also a demon. That was how he survived the fire.

Then he thought about what Freddie was really like. Under the tutelage of an earthbound angel and a demon who couldn't bring himself to become really evil, Freddie had become a great kid. Polite and thoughtful and intelligent . . .

_Screw genetics. We are what we make of our lives._

"You know what will happen," Crowley said, "if we go to Tadfield, don't you?"

"Yeah. The world will change."

"The world will **end**. There'll be a horrible war, and millions of people will die. You don't want to be responsible for that, do you?"

_Great, lay a guilt trip on the kid. That'll make him want to go along._

"They didn't tell me that," Freddie said in a small voice.

"No, they wouldn't. Make a big deal of all the power, but fail to mention the responsibility. Well, power works both ways." He went and grabbed his keys, realized he wasn't dressed, and changed clothes with a wave of his hand. "If we go down to Tadfield, do you think you can work with the other two to-to stop this?"

"I don't know," said Freddie.

"We've got to try! For all that's good in this world! For dolphins, and butterflies, and cream cakes, and-and-and fancy cars and old bookshops and Queen! What if there were no more songs to sing at bedtime? You've got to do it! For Papa."

"For Papa," Freddie echoed. "All right, Dad, let's go. Maybe I can talk the other two into . . . giving up the idea. I don't know. But I can try."

"That's my boy!" As he said the words, he realized that he meant it. Freddie was his, no matter what biology might have to say about it. The kid was **his**. His and Aziraphale's.

They went and got in the car, and began the journey to Tadfield.

And got stuck in a traffic jam.

On the M25.

Which Crowley had purposely designed in the shape of the great sigil Odegra, which meant "Hail the Great Beast, Devourer of Worlds."

Crowley said a Very Naughty Word, and then cautioned his son not to tell Papa. Freddie just laughed.

At least someone could laugh about this. Crowley had the feeling that the time for laughter was just about over.

* * *

Warlock had been awakened by the storm, which had come out of nowhere. The paper had said it was going to be a nice day today. Was it some sort of freak weather pattern, or-

_It's starting. It's happening. The Three must come together . . ._

There they were again, those strange thoughts that weren't his own. Where were they coming from? Whose thoughts were they, if not his?

He found Anathema unpacking her first-aid kit in the living room. "Has there been an accident?" he asked.

"Not yet," she said, not looking up, "but there will be."

"How do you know?"

She passed a card over to him without looking up. He read:

_"Whenne Robin's blue chariot inverted be, a man be on your bed, aching his head for willow fine . . . _ This is from that book your ancestor wrote?"

"Agnes never lies. Sometimes she's a bit hard to understand, but she never lies."

Just as the rain outside sounded like it was beginning to let up a bit, they heard a crash from down the road.

"Just stay out of the way, all right? According to Agnes, we do something . . . a bit adult."

"You mean have sex. Yeah, I saw that one. Do you know him, this man who's coming?"

"No. Not yet. But according to Agnes, we'll be together till the end of the world."

"Oh, well, that's all right, then."

It wasn't. Anathema didn't tell him that the end of the world was now only about six hours away. No sense worrying the poor boy.

And then Adam and his friends showed up, carrying a groggy, injured man between them. "He crashed his car up the road," Adam explained. "We managed to get it upright again before it exploded."

"It exploded?" She looked a bit worried.

Pepper sighed in annoyance. "It did **not **explode, Adam! It didn't even catch on fire like they do in the movies! Anyway, he seems to be all right. A little shaken up and bruised, but all right. We brought him here because witches are supposed to be good at healing and even if you weren't, which I'm sure you are, you could call an ambulance since it's so close."

"All right. I can take it from here. Thanks, guys."

Pepper scoffed a bit at the use of the male collective, but she dutifully followed the others out the door. Warlock, who had been sitting on the stairs, out of the way, came down to see if there was anything he could do to help.

"Actually, there is," she said. "Get me a glass of water?"

That, he could do.

He was a little disappointed that they hadn't brought back the other batch of magazines, but as he wasn't done with the first lot yet, he'd probably be fine. At least he'd have something to read while Anathema and What's His Name were getting on with the adult bit.

* * *

It was the ultimate irony of ironies: the radio playing "Don't Stop Me Now" when they weren't actually going anywhere.

Dad grumbled blessings under his breath and pounded the steering wheel in frustration. Freddie, who had been playing games on his phone until the battery dipped below ten percent, looked out the window and noticed something strange.

"Why's everyone getting out of their cars?" he asked.

"They're what?"

"They're saying something, too." Freddie rolled down the window so he could hear better.

All around them, drivers were throwing their vehicles into Park, climbing out, and chanting. What they were chanting was "Hail the Great Beast, Devourer of Worlds."

Freddie, who **was **the Great Beast, Devourer of Worlds, thought it was some sort of flash mob. At least until all the cars burst into flames.

London was now surrounded by a burning ring of fire, and it was impossible to get out.

Unless you were Anthony J. Crowley.[1]

Driving in the left lane had its advantages: he swung the wheel, drove onto the shoulder, and maneuvered around all the vehicles that still had yet to catch fire. Then he caught up to the ones that had.

"Brace yourself," he said to Freddie. "We're goin' through."

"Dad, we can't!"

"Impervious to flame, remember?"

"Yeah, but the car isn't! It can't drive through fire!"

"It will," Crowley said through clenched teeth, "if I tell it to. Help me hold this thing together, my boy. Pray, just like Papa taught you, that we make it to Tadfield. That we make it in one piece. That we make it in time."

Freddie sat in the back, closed his eyes, and said a frantic prayer.

_Dear God, our Father, who art in Heaven, please help us stay alive. Please get us to Tadfield in time. We must get there. **I **must get there. Please help us through the flames. For Papa._

It was for Papa that he had grabbed the funny old book that Papa had been working with for days. It was full of his notes, in his perfectly neat handwriting. Freddie had almost tripped over the book when he walked through the flames, and he picked it up because he knew Papa would want him to. It had barely been singed by the flames. Maybe it was a magic book.

He hoped and prayed right now that the magic would be enough to protect them.

* * *

They were two miles outside Tadfield when Hastur and Ligur appeared inside the car.

Which was on fire.

And even though they were demons, and thus also impervious to fire, it was very disconcerting for them.

"Where's the boy, Crowley?" Hastur demanded.

Freddie waved from the back seat. "I'm right here!"

"He's right there," said Crowley, trying not to let these two gits break his concentration, which by now was the only thing still holding the car together.

"Not **your **kid!" said Ligur. "You know the one we mean! The Antichrist!"

"Still me," said Freddie.

Hastur turned back to look at him. "You keep quiet, you! The grownups are talking!"

"Look," said Crowley, "I am trying to keep this car going even though it's on fire by persuading it that it's **not **on fire, and it's really difficult to do that when you're breathing down the back of my neck and demanding to know where the Antichrist is!"

At this news, Ligur looked alarmed. "Why the bloody heaven is your car on fire?"

"Because I was an idiot and took the wrong road! There was no other way!"

"You can't drive ninety miles an hour in a car that's on fire!" Hastur exclaimed. "You'll discorporate us all!"

"Not if you shut up and get out!"

Freddie went on silently praying, not even moving his lips. He knew there was something not right about these two-the fact that they had spontaneously appeared in a flaming car going ninety miles an hour, for one thing. Something told him that if they knew he was praying, they might try to put a stop to it. So he kept it within the silence of his own heart, as Papa had taught him.

"You're mad, Crowley!" Hastur screamed. "Stop the car!"

"Can't! Can't stop, won't stop! Now bugger off or I'll discorporate you myself!"

"You bastard!" Hastur began to sizzle from the heat. He shimmered, like the transporter on _Star Trek_, and faded away.

Ligur was not pleased. "You'll be hearing about this!"

"Oh, fuck off, Frog-face!"

Ligur screamed and did the same shimmering disappearing thing. It nearly made Freddie jump. He paused in his prayer for just a moment, but then got back to it, as hard as ever.

Dad didn't turn around to look. "Don't tell Papa," he said, "that I said That Word."

Freddie just nodded.

* * *

Warlock had to move off the stairs so that Anathema and her boyfriend, who was called Newt (what kind of a name was Newt, anyway?), could go upstairs and get on with the adult bit. He'd already read about it on the card, but hearing the squeaking of bedsprings and two voices moaning in ecstasy was something else.

He wondered what all the fuss was about.

The storm got worse, and Warlock retreated to the bathroom, the only room in the cottage without a window, just in case the wind should blow a tree through one of the windows. Nanny had taught him that.

"If there's a storm, Warlock dear, you get inside, well away from the windows. Get into the cellar, if you can. Don't touch anything electric, and don't turn on the water. Wait till it's all clear before you come out and turn things on again."

He sat on the edge of the bathtub, careful not to touch any water. Hopefully it would all be over soon.

The squeaks and moans ended at about the same time that the storm finally died down. Warlock came out of the bathroom to find Anathema and Newt, adjusting their clothing, talking about what to do next.

"I'm telling you, it's the air base!" said Newt. "'Peace is our profession' is their slogan! I've seen it on the side of the trucks!"

Anathema sighed. "I still think it's something else. I mean, they don't even have any planes up there anymore. Just a lot of computers and communication equipment."

"That's where it is," said Warlock.

They turned to look at him.

"My dad told me, when the next big war comes, it won't be fought by soldiers with guns. It'll be one big computer against another. That's how it's happening. We have to get there now."

"Well, I'm not sure my car will run-"

"The kids said it was fine," said Anathema, "once they turned it right-side up. Agnes said we would be there when it starts, so if that's where it's happening, we need to get there. I know the way."

"Yes, but the soldiers guarding the computers and communications equipment have guns! We'll end up getting shot!"

"No, we won't," said Warlock. "Let's go."

They went out to the car, a curious three-wheeled little thing with DICK TURPIN written across the back. There wasn't much of a back seat, but Warlock wasn't that big, so he managed to fit all right.

They drove through the wet streets, around fallen trees, and parked behind the base, avoiding the front gate.

"I was almost born here," Warlock said.

"Really?" asked Anathema.

"My mum was visiting the base while my dad was in America with the President. The one before the one I met. She went into labor, and the base hospital was closed for repairs or something, so they brought her to another hospital nearby."

"That's really interesting. Do you see anything?" she called to Newt, who was perched halfway up a tree, looking for a spot from which they could climb the fence.

"No, it looks pretty solid. I imagine it's kept up pretty regular. Security and all that."

"_Behinde the Eagle's Neste, a great ash hath fallen," _Warlock quoted.

Newt looked confused, but Anathema nodded and looked around. She found it right away. "Over there-there's a tree that fell right onto the fence. We can climb along it. You remembered that from the cards?"

"Uh huh."

"Funny. For years, we thought it referred to the Russian Revolution. Good old Agnes."

She went first, hiking up her skirts and climbing onto the tree and then sliding down its length, hopping off where it touched the ground several meters away. Warlock went next. Newt, nervously looking around as if at any second expecting soldiers with guns to come running around a corner, brought up the rear.

Warlock stopped and closed his eyes for a second. "He's close," he said. "They're both close. It'll happen once they're both here."

"**What **will happen?" asked Newt.

"I . . . I don't know. Something important. Which building is where they keep the computers and such?"

Newt looked around. "I expect it'd be that one with the antenna on it."

"That's the one, then."

"But it'll be locked!"

"Not for long," said Anathema.

They found that, in fact, it wasn't locked. But only because someone had gotten there first. Four someones.

The one in white was seated before the main computer console, while the others clustered around him. Anathema, Newt, and Warlock hid behind a filing cabinet before they were spotted.

"Who are **they**?" Newt whispered.

"Those who Ride Out," said Warlock. Then he shook himself. How had he known that?

"The Four Horsemen," said Anathema.

"Did you see any horses outside?" Newt asked her.

"_Four shalle ride," _Anathema quoted. "It's the end of the world, so it must be them."

"And at least one of them's a woman."

"Fine. The Four Horse**people**, then. Don't let them see us!"

They waited while the four finished what they were doing and left the building. Once he was sure they were gone, Newt went to the console and looked from one monitor to the next. They all showed the same thing: people in various countries panicking because their computer systems had apparently decided independently to launch all the missiles in their respective arsenals.

"We have to shut it down," said Anathema. "You're a computer engineer; you can do this."

"Erm . . . I don't know if I can-"

"_He is notte what he claims to bee," _quoted Warlock.

Anathema gave him a confused look. Then she turned back to Newt.

"Look," he said with a sigh, "I'm not exactly a computer engineer. Truth is, I'm rubbish with computers. I try to fix them, but I only end up crashing them somehow."

"Really?" she asked.

"I can't even touch a computer without it falling to pieces."

"Fine," she said, a smile spreading across her face. "Then **fix **it."

While they were busy with that, Warlock stepped outside. The First of Three was here, and the Second was very near. Something was about to happen. He wasn't exactly sure what, but it was what he had been made for. It was the sole purpose of his entire life.

And he still didn't know how he knew that.

He heard voices and came running down a path onto the tarmac where planes no longer landed, and saw Adam Young and his friends squaring off against the Four.

Adam? Adam was the First? His soulmate? It didn't seem possible, and yet, when they'd met, he knew he'd felt **something**. Some connection between the two of them. Only there weren't two; there were supposed to be three. Where was the third? Not one of these.

He watched as one by one, they defeated the Four and sent them back into the minds of humanity. That should have ended it, then. That should have-

The alarms that had been blaring for the past few minutes suddenly stopped. Just stopped, dead, as if someone had thrown a switch.

A moment later, Anathema and Newt came running from the computer shack, smiles of triumph on their faces.

At almost the same time, a flying Vespa scooter with two old people aboard touched down. What were they doing here? They certainly weren't Warlock's parents, who would probably show up sooner or later. They had to be looking for him.

"The boys," said the lady from the scooter, only when she spoke, it didn't sound like a woman's voice. It sounded like a man's. It sounded . . . familiar? "That one there, and . . ." She whirled around and pointed one crimson-nailed finger at Warlock. "Him. They're the witches, Sergeant Shadwell. Shoot them!"

"Excuse me!" Pepper stood in front of them defiantly. "Who do you think you are, going around shooting people? They haven't done anything to you!"

"She's right!" the woman said, in a completely different voice. "You can't go around shooting children! It's not right! We're supposed to be the good guys!"

"Good job findin' the witches, Private Pulsifer," said the old man. He raised a funny-looking weapon. It didn't even look like a real gun. It looked like some kind of toy. It couldn't be loaded. "Now step aside, laddie, and let the Queen's justice be done!"

"But you **can't**!" said the woman, and in the other voice, she said, "I don't like it any more than you do, dear. I've got a boy of my own. Well, I helped raise him, anyway. But if we **don't **shoot them, then everything we've worked for is finished!"

"You can't stop it now," said Adam calmly. "The Third is here."

Careening down the runway like a bat out of hell (sorry) came a ball of flame vaguely shaped like a car. It stopped just before it reached the group, and amazingly, something like a door opened in the front of it, and a man-or at least a man-shape-got out. Then another door opened in the back, and a boy joined him.

Warlock's eyes nearly fell out of his head.

"Freddie!"

But Freddie was staring past him at the rest of the group. In particular, at the man with the gun.

"Put that away, please," he said. "You won't be needing it. We can stop this. Together, now that we're all here, we can stop it."

Adam took a step towards him. "Welcome, brother," he said.

The man who had gotten out of the car staggered forward. He was streaked with soot and covered in sweat, but he didn't appear burned at all. "Aziraphale! I see you found a body. Great, we're all here, let's go ahead and stop the Apocalypse!"

* * *

[1] Don't ask what the J stood for. Even Crowley didn't know.


	6. Chapter 6

Freddie turned in the direction his dad was looking, and beneath the woman's physical form, he saw . . . someone he knew. "Papa?"

"Hello, Freddie Bug. I told you I'd find a way. Oh, my dear boy, I'm sorry we never told you the truth. Who you were, what you were meant to do . . . why are there three of you?"

"There have to be three," said Adam. "The human, the divine, and the infernal, made flesh. It was always meant to be this way. Anyone who thought there was only one Antichrist wasn't reading the correct prophecies."

"Speaking of which," said Anathema, stepping forward, "you," and here she pointed at Crowley, "stole my book!"

"What book?"

"I have the book," said Freddie. He produced it from under his shirt, where he'd been keeping it safe. He handed it to Dad, who tossed it to Anathema.

Adam was staring at the scooter woman. "Why are you two people?" he asked.

"Well, you see," said Aziraphale, "it was an emergency, and I needed to borrow a body until one was ready for me-"

"I think you should be two separate people." He reached for Freddie's hand. Freddie took it and reached out for Warlock, who joined hands with him. The three of them closed their eyes, drawing on their shared power.

The woman shuddered, and then it was as if she was ripped down the middle, into two forms. One stayed her, the other reformed itself into Aziraphale's customary body.

"That's better," he said, brushing himself off. He looked down and saw something on the pavement. "Hello there." He bent down to pick it up. It was a flaming sword, and when he picked it up, it fit into his hand as if it had been made for it. Which, in fact, it had.

"Didn't you give that away?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale gave him a look. "We don't talk about that."

"So what happens now?" asked Brian. "Can we all go home now?"

Adam shook his head. "It's not over yet."

"But we stopped the missiles!" Anathema exclaimed. "Well, my boyfriend here stopped them."

"It wasn't much," said Newt, and then he looked at her curiously. "**Boyfriend**?"

"Something's coming," said Freddie.

The clouds above opened up, and a light shone down upon them. In the center of this light was a man, or at least a man-shape.

The ground rumbled and shook, and then something dark burst forth. It was also human-shaped, although it wore a giant fly on its head for some reason.

Both Aziraphale and Crowley went very pale.

"Which one of you," the man demanded, "is the Antichrist?"

Adam, Warlock, and Freddie stepped forward as one. They were still holding hands. "I AM," they said in unison, and their voices blended together into one voice.

"This izz not acceptable," said the other. "Armageddon muzzt go ahead azz scheduled!"

"Why, Lord Beelzebub?" Crowley demanded. "Why must it happen?"

"Silence, traitor! We know what you've done! You stole the Antichrist from us and tried to turn him againzzt us!"

"Ssssso what?" Crowley hissed.

"It must happen," said Gabriel. "It's part of the Great Plan. And you little brats have gone and cocked it up!"

"Gabriel, I really don't think you should use such language in front of children," said Aziraphale, who was twisting his hands together behind his back.

"You stay out of this! We should have banished you after the incident in the Garden! I knew you were nothing but trouble! And **now **look what you've done!"

"ENOUGH!" roared Adam/Warlock/Freddie.

The rest of the world fell away, and it was just the three of them, standing in an endless desert, with Crowley and Aziraphale, the latter still holding his flaming sword.

Their wings, black and white, were out, for the first time in millennia.

"Warlock," said Crowley, "there's a reason you are here. You are the third side of the triangle. The three of you represent the natures of man: angel, devil, and pure human. For a long time, I thought you were mine, but you were never anything but yourself."

Warlock peered up at him. "Nanny?"

"Yes, it's me, child."

"Have you always been a man, or did you . . . change?"

"I told you I'd look different when you saw me again." He turned to the other two boys. "You two . . . you are twins. Your mum told me, just recently. You would have found each other eventually, with or without us."

"So we're . . . demons?" asked Freddie.

"You are," said Aziraphale, "whatever you want to be. We did our best to raise you as a human, and human beings have free will. You choose your own path. All of you are free to choose what you want to do. Do you **want **the world to end in fire?"

"Of course not," said Adam.

"Then you decide. You can end this, if you choose. The three of you, united, are the most powerful force in the universe. If you decide it should be one way, then that's how it will be. You must-"

Suddenly they were dragged back to the airfield. "This is unacceptable!" Gabriel raged. "I've got twenty thousand legions of angels ready for a war! The war must happen!"

"We don't want your war," said Adam.

"It's not about what you want! It's the plan!"

"If you won't lizzen to us," said Beelzebub, "then maybe you'll lizzen to **her**."

The ground heaved and opened up, spewing forth a blonde woman in the remains of a designer suit, her face streaked with blood and soot.

"Laura," Crowley said. "You didn't make it to the plane, did you?"

"**Thizz**," the Lord of the Flies said triumphantly, "izz what happens to those who defy the power of Hell! She hid the child from us, and she muzzt be punished!"

Crowley didn't want to imagine what sort of torment was reserved for those who hid the Antichrist. He supposed he'd find out soon enough.

Laura straightened up, made an effort to brush herself off, and took a few unsteady steps over to the boys. "Hello, my darlings," she said. "I'm your mum."

"You're not **my **mum," said Warlock.

"No," said Freddie. "She's ours." He looked her over with growing horror. "Oh, Mum, what have they done to you?"

"It doesn't matter. You have to do what they tell you, and then we can be a family. All of us! You and me, and . . . and your dad, and-"

"I can't, Mum. It's not right. We can't just end the world. No matter how they torture us."

She turned to Adam, pleading with her eyes. "Have mercy on my, my precious boy. You'll listen, won't you? You'll do what they want. And then we can all be together!"

"I've got a mum," said Adam. "She may not have given birth to me, but she cares about me more than you do. Go away."

Laura flickered and then disappeared. Beelzebub was not pleased.

"Where have you zzzent her?"

"Back where she belongs," said Adam.

"Back to her home," said Freddie.

"Noooooooo! You little bratzz!"

"You can't just stop in the middle of an Apocalypse!" Gabriel insisted. "Everyone is ready to start the war, so start it already!"

"You know who likes wars?" Warlock spoke up.

Everyone turned to him in surprise.

"My dad," he continued. "He's always talking about how America is at its best in wartime. Stimulates the economy, gives us a common purpose, that sort of thing. So I asked him, what about all the people who die? Not just soldiers; regular people die, too, when one side or the other drops a bomb on their town. I mean, here they are, sitting at home watching television, and suddenly a bomb drops out of the sky and kills them. They didn't have anything to do with it, but they're just as dead now. What's fair about that?"

"What did he say?" asked Crowley, who had a pretty good idea.

"He sent me to my room. Said I could 'get with the program' or get out. Well, I don't want to get with any program that drops bombs on innocent people! I'm not going to be a politician and start wars. I want to save what's left of the Earth. So both of you can just get stuffed!"

"You are interfering," Gabriel raged, "with the Plan!"

"Which plan would that be?" asked Aziraphale.

"**The **plan! The Great Plan!"

"The . . . Ineffable Plan?"

"Aren't they the same thing?"

"Well, that depends," said Crowley. "If they are, then all of this is part of the plan. She planned it this way."

"God is a woman?" said Pepper. "I knew it!"

"So whatever happens," Crowley continued, "was meant to happen this way. Whatever we do, it's what we're meant to do. So it can't be wrong."

"So bugger off, both of you," said Adam.

Gabriel and Beelzebub took an indignant step forward-and vanished.

"Now they're gone, we can fix everything. Put it all back the way it was."

"No," said Adam. "We should make things better."

"We will. But not all at once. Bit by bit. When we're older. I'm gonna be an environmental engineer; what about you?"

"I . . . I don't know. I like spaceships. Maybe I'll work for the Space Agency."

"You good in Maths?" asked Freddie. "There's a lot of Maths involved in space travel. I saw it on a documentary about astronauts. I'm rubbish in Maths, myself. I think maybe I'll become a firefighter. I found out I'm impervious to flame, but I don't know how long that'll last."

"You can be whatever you want to be, boys," said Aziraphale. "That's the point of free will. You live the lives you want, not what's dictated to you by some plan."

"Or prophecy?" asked Newt.

"What i' the bloody hell is goin' on?" Shadwell demanded.

Suddenly the ground started shaking and rumbling. They were all of them knocked off their feet onto the tarmac, which was becoming very hot.

"What's happening now?" asked Madame Tracy.

"Oh, no," said Crowley. He was looking out at a spot that was bubbling and churning. "He's coming."

"Who?"

"Their father."

"But I thought **you **were-"

"Their **real **father. The Prince of Darkness Himself. This is really, really bad."

Something came up through the bubbly spot, flowing like lava. It was huge and red and horned. It glared down at them with huge red eyes like giant-screen TVs.

"**_Come to me, my children,_**" it said.

The boys stood firm.

"Knock it off," said Adam. "This isn't what you really look like."

The red monstrosity shook, and then it shrunk down to the size of a man. A blond man in a black jacket and leather trousers, with amazingly blue eyes.

"Is this better?" he asked. "My boys. My beautiful boys, kept from me for so long. The time has come for you to fulfill your purpose on this Earth."

"We won't," said Freddie. "Our purpose, as you call it, is a load of rubbish."

Satan spread his arms and smiled broadly. "Boys," he said, "we're all family here. Even you, whoever you are," he addressed Warlock. "We should all get along! Now be good little boys and let's go ahead and start up the end of the world again. It's got to happen. I'm ready. We're all ready. Let's get this done so we can rule a new world, one that's better than the old one-because we made it!"

"What's this 'we' stuff?" asked Adam. "We only just met you five minutes ago! What's with parents who turn up after eleven years and expect you to be all lovey-dovey with them when you don't even **know **them? You don't get to do that! You're not my father!"

"Of course I am. Look at me. We look just alike, don't we?"

"Family is more than just a bunch of squiggly bits and DNA and stuff! Family is being there for someone you care about! And you've never been there!"

Lucifer shook his head sadly at his wayward son. "At least I have a backup. How 'bout it, Freddie? Want to rule the world together, as father and son?"

"I don't think so," the boy said. He pointed back towards Crowley and Aziraphale. "That's my dad there, and my Papa. I've never met you, and I **don't** want to rule any world you'd make for us. So get lost!"

"Shakespeare was right," Lucifer said sadly. "'How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is, to have a thankless child.'"

"I'd like to sink my serpent's teeth into you," Crowley muttered darkly.

Lucifer regarded him. "Oh, hi, Crawly. I remember you. You were so proud that you found a way to sneak into the Garden. So I said, go on up there and make some trouble. And did you ever!"

"And who took all the bloody credit for himself? You were all buddy-buddy when you needed me to do something, but when it got done, you took the credit and told me to shove off!"

"You were thrown out of Heaven for a reason," said Aziraphale. "You never could obey the rules."

Lucifer smiled at him. "And where did obeying the rules get you, Beloved of Raphael? No one Up There likes you. They all smile and pat you on the head and then laugh at you behind your back. You don't have the guts to tell them what you really think."

"No," said the angel, "but I have the guts to do this!" And he thrust out the arm still holding the sword. It struck Lucifer in the chest.

The Evil One screamed as orange light erupted from the wound. He shimmered and disappeared.

The humans in the vicinity were watching, wide-eyed.

"Did you just," asked Anathema, "kill the Devil?"

"Oh, no," said Aziraphale. "Just discorporated him temporarily. He'll be back. Just not today."

"Better no' be," said Shadwell. "Or he'll have to face this finger!" He held up his index finger in triumph.

"It's up to all of us now," said Madame Tracy. "We saved the world. Now we have to make it a better place. I, um, I take care of people. I tell them their departed loved ones are in a better place, and I bring them a bit of comfort. Sometimes making the world better comes one person at a time."

"I suppose I'll have to find a new job," said Newt. "Something not to do with computers in any way."

"You can stay with me," said Anathema, "until you find one."

Freddie was looking back at the burned-out remains of the Bentley. "How're we gonna get home, Dad? We've got no car!"

Crowley walked around it slowly, taking in the damage from all sides. There wasn't enough left of it to call it a car anymore; it was more of a rust heap on rubberless wheels. "I had it from new! Ninety years without a scratch!"

"Listen!" said Adam. "Someone's coming."

There was a vehicle making its way slowly across the tarmac. It wasn't a military-issue Jeep, which they were expecting. It was a white delivery van with INTERNATIONAL EXPRESS written on the side.

The van parked a short distance away, and the driver got out. "Right, I'm here for a crown, a sword, and a pair of scales. We got those?"

Pepper handed him what was left of the scales. Wensley picked up the crown, holding it in two fingers at arm's length.

"Good, good. You won't believe the day I've had. Got to get these all back before midnight. And the sword?"

Aziraphale looked down and suddenly realized that the sword was still in his hand. "Oh. Right. Here you are. Goodbye, old friend. Thank you for your service."

"Sign 'ere, please."

The angel signed with a flourish.

"Right, that's that done, then." He looked around at the rather motley group. "What's everyone looking so grim for? Storm's over. I hear it's gonna be a nice day tomorrow."

"I'm just glad," said Anathema, "that there's going to be a tomorrow."

It was then that two more vehicles arrived on the scene. One was a black stretch limo, accompanied by two security officers on motorcycles. The other was a well-loved sedan belonging to one Arthur Young.

The limo parked on the far side of the runway, and Thad Dowling got out. "There you are, young man! Do you know we've been looking all over England for you? You are in a lot of trouble!"

"So are you," said Warlock. "Filing a false report with the police is a criminal offense. You told them I'd been kidnapped, and I hadn't."

"Well, um-"

"Actually," the boy said, in a sudden fit of inventiveness, "I did get kidnapped. When the taxi stopped, two men in black masks grabbed me and threw me into a black van. But I got away from them and came here. I ended up at Anathema's cottage, and when the storm came, we, um . . . we came here to seek shelter. That's why we're all here. We were gonna call the police as soon as it was all clear."

"Oh. Well . . . that's okay, then. We'll tell them you're all right and they can call off the search."

Arthur Young had parked just behind the remains of the Bentley and looked around at the assembled group in confusion. "Would anyone care to tell me," he asked, "just what the hell is going on?"

* * *

_(A/N: Thanks to everyone who's favorited and followed! Don't forget to let me know what you think. Just a few more chapters to go! Stay tuned!)_


	7. Chapter 7

They didn't go back to see what was left of the bookshop.

Crowley "borrowed" a Jeep and drove the three of them back to his flat for the night. And possibly for the near future.

"So what happens tomorrow, Dad?" Freddie asked, as his dad turned down the covers. Freddie hadn't needed to be tucked in for years, but tonight, he felt like a five-year-old again.

"You tell me," said Crowley. "You and Warlock and Adam, you saved the whole world, the three of you. What do you think is going to happen tomorrow?"

"I think . . ."

"Yeah?"

"I think we'll wake up and find that it's all gone back to the way it was. Mostly. Maybe a few improvements here and there. Dad, are you gonna be in trouble at work over this?"

"You know what? I think maybe they'll leave us alone from now on. Now that they've seen what you boys can do, they'll keep their distance and pretend it never happened."

"I hope so. I don't want you to get in trouble because of me."

"Freddie, my boy, I would swim through a sea of holy water for you. I would discorporate myself a thousand times just to save you once. I-is this getting too cliché?"

"A bit, yeah."

"The thing is, I never saw myself as a father, until you came along. Then I couldn't imagine life without you. I . . ." He couldn't bring himself to say the actual word.

"I know, Dad. Me too."

Aziraphale poked his head in the door. "How are you getting on, dear boy?"

"Hi, Papa. I think it was brilliant, the way you ran Satan through with your sword. Just like Darth Vader!"

"Now, now! Darth Vader was the villain. What I did was in the interests of saving the world and everything in it. That was righteous vengeance at work there. Haven't done that in a long time. Felt kinda good, actually."

"Am I gonna live forever, like you?"

The angel smiled and bent down over the boy. "I don't know, Freddie. I don't know if you're demon or angel or just human. We shall see in time." He kissed the boy on the forehead. "Good night, Freddie."

"Night, Papa. Dad, sing to me?"

Crowley looked down at him. "Really? Tonight, of all nights?"

"Please?"

"All right." He went through his mental song index and found the perfect one.

_"__Love of my life . . ."_

* * *

Sunday morning was indeed bright and sunny, and Sunday afternoon was even better. It was warm but not too warm, just the perfect weather for a picnic in the park.

"So," said Thad Dowling, sitting on a bench and trying to wrap his head around what had happened, "you finished your . . . what do you call it? Transition?"

"Yes," said Crowley. It was easier to let the man think that his former nanny was a female-to-male transgender than to try and explain the whole thing.

"Hmm. Okay. And you're back with your, um, partner?" He nodded towards Aziraphale, who was tossing a Frisbee to the boys.

"We can't stay apart for long."

"Good, good. What a mess, huh? Some sort of glitch in the National Defense grid, they're calling it. They're calling me back to Washington to give them my statement."

"Oh? How soon?"

"Tomorrow morning. So I thought, since the boys get along so well and all . . . maybe Warlock could stay here with you for a while. Shouldn't be more than a week or so. They'll be starting school together soon, anyway."

"Yes," said Crowley. "That will be fine. He's an absolute angel, our Warlock. Freddie just adores him."

He was beginning to think that maybe he had been wrong about Dowling. That maybe he wasn't such a twit after all.

"Do you think it was connected?" Dowling asked him. "The kidnapping, I mean. Some of the news outlets are calling it a terrorist action, but no group has come forward to claim responsibility."

"No, I don't think so. Anyway, all's well that ends well."

"Hey, how about that giant squid or whatever it was attacking whaling ships near Asia?"

"Hadn't heard about that."

"Must be climate change, huh?"

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses. "Yes, that's it," he said. "And all those flying saucers were swamp gas."

Humans were the most amazing creatures. When faced with the unexplainable, their ape-brains always came up with something utterly mundane. Swamp gas, indeed! Just as well, he supposed.

The world would go on, as it always had, and no one would know just how close they had come to the end. Everything was back to normal. Except for a few tweaks here and there that Freddie swore were Adam's fault, it all looked exactly the same. The Bentley was back, not a scratch on her, Queen tapes all in place in the glove compartment. Even the bookshop had risen from the flames like a phoenix, and though Aziraphale had yet to take a complete inventory, he had reported that everything looked right.

He scattered some bread for the ducks, and then sat down with the others to a picnic lunch.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Tadfield, Adam was just finishing tidying his room. You could actually see the floor now. His mum came to inspect the job, and found it satisfactory.

"Do I **really **have to stay in the whole day?" he asked.

She looked at him. "What did your father say?"

"He said that even if he didn't understand why I was being punished, that I would."

"And do you?"

Adam hung his head. "Yes."

"Well, then."

"Could I maybe . . ."

"Yes?"

"Go to the library?"

"The library?" She seemed surprised and more than a little alarmed. "What do you want at the library?"

Adam started to roll his eyes at her, and stopped himself. It wouldn't help his case any. "Some books. That's all. Please?"

"Let me think about it for a minute."

"Can I take Dog out back for some exercise in the meantime?"

She nodded. "If," she amended, "you stay right in the back garden and don't go running off. If you do, you'll come right back here and not go anywhere till your father says it's okay."

"I will."

There was most of a foam rubber ball by the back steps, a relic of someone else's dog that Dog had found poking around. Adam threw it for him a few times, feeling like something should happen.

"I mean, it's not my fault," he said to Dog. "I didn't ask to be born. I hope they don't try again with someone else. But if they do, I can be there to help him through it. Or her. The next Antichrist might even be a girl. Wouldn't that be something?"

Dog looked up at him with what Adam thought was a quizzical expression. His ability to talk to animals seemed to be fading, bit by bit. In a year or so, it might be totally gone. He hoped he didn't lose the human languages, though; that might be useful if he did go into the space program. He'd hate to have to learn Russian and Chinese and French and all that all over again.

Eventually his mother came out. "I'll take you to the library," she said. "But we won't stay long. Pick out your books and go."

Adam nodded and tied Dog to the railing so he wouldn't run after them. "We'll be back later, Dog!" he called.

* * *

There was smoke coming from the chimney at Jasmine Cottage.

"That's a bit odd, them having a fire on such a warm day," said Adam's mother. "Maybe we should stop in and see if they're all right."

"I'm sure it's fine," Adam said. He thought that Anathema must be doing something occult.

"We wouldn't want them to burn the place down, would we?"

A moment later, Adam stood on the doorstep and knocked. He could hear hushed voices from within, and he wondered just what they were doing in there. Then he wondered if he really wanted to know.

Anathema answered the door. "Oh, hello, Adam."

"Hi. Um, we were just passing, and we saw the smoke, and my mum wanted to make sure we didn't need to call the fire brigade or something."

"What? Oh. Oh, no, we're just-"

"Burning some old papers," said Newt. He was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, feeding yellowed pages into the fire one by one.

"Very old papers," said Anathema. "Where are you off to, if you don't mind me asking?"

"The library. I want to see if I can find books on what I need to do to join the space program."

"That sounds exciting. So you want to be an astronaut, huh?"

"Not exactly. I mean, being an astronaut would be great, but a lot of the people who work there do technical stuff like calculating flight paths and designing specialized equipment and stuff. I think I might like to do that."

"That's nice," she said, in the absent way that grownups do when kids talk about what they want to do when they grow up. "Have fun."

Adam left for the library, and Newt and Anathema went on with burning _The Further Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter_. It took them most of the day and into the evening.

The rest of the evening was spent on more enjoyable pursuits.[1]

* * *

[1] They played Scrabble. And then Monopoly. Newt was rather annoyed that he couldn't be the boot, but as half the pieces were missing, he had to make do with the little car.


	8. Chapter 8

The thing about celestial beings, both heavenly and demonic, is that being immortal, they have infinite patience. They knew they didn't have to go after Aziraphale and Crowley right away. Both sides knew where the renegades lived. They would be there for quite a while, if past behavior was anything to go by. So, no rush. They could wait a year, or ten years, or even a hundred, before they made their move.

In the end, it worked out to about a year and a half.

* * *

It was Christmas Eve in London, and Aziraphale and Freddie were just leaving the services at St. Anastasia's. It was a small church, but a strong community of faith, and they would have been honored to learn that an actual angel was among them.

Freddie found the services a bit boring, but that was because he was nearly a teenager, and nothing to do with his demonic origins. He hadn't even felt the slightest hint of warmth upon entering the church. Whatever he had started out as, he was definitely on the side of good now.

They waited at the curb for Crowley to come with the car, and it was then that two men stepped out of the shadows.

"Merry Christmas," Freddie said automatically. Then he recognized the taller of the two. "What are **you **doing here?"

Gabriel's eyes widened, and he turned to his companion. "You didn't tell me the kid was going to be here!"

"I didn't think it was important!"

"You didn't think-Sandalphon, we've talked about this! Never mind, it's not important now. Let's do what we came here for."

The two angels seized their one-time colleague and vanished, leaving Freddie alone on the pavement. For a moment, he just stood there in shock, trying to process what had just happened.

Then he pulled out his phone and hit the first name on his contacts list.

"Dad? Are you there?"

"Yeah, kid, I'm here. I'm just down the street from you-"

"They've taken him! The boss angel and another one. They took Papa, and I don't think they're gonna bring him back!"

"Okay, okay, calm down, pet. I'll be there in a minute. Just stay where you are and don't talk to anyone else. Okay? We don't know who we can trust."

"They took him!"

"I know. Bless it, we thought they'd left us alone! I'm at the corner now, Freddie, can you see me?"

Freddie stood on his tiptoes and looked around. Then he saw the Bentley approaching from the east. "Yeah, I see you."

"It's gonna be okay, son. We'll get him back."

No sooner had he finished the sentence than the Bentley pulled directly up to the curb in front of the frightened boy. The door opened all on its own, and Freddie climbed in.

"How will we get him back, Dad? You can't go to where he is! And I . . . I don't know how."

"Listen to me, son, and listen good. Do you have any of your power left?"

"A little." He tried not to use it much. Once in a while, he could make a traffic light change from red to green, or clear up a cloudy day (provided it wasn't too cloudy), but mostly, he just let it be.

"Okay, well, it's possible that if you and the brain trust get together, you might be able to combine what you've got left and break him out of Heaven. I can't come with you, sorry."

"It's okay, Dad. Your job is to watch over me."

"And I will. Call them, right now."

"On Christmas Eve? Adam's family's having a big party. And Warlock's parents are having dinner with a member of the royal family."[1]

"Doesn't matter. This is an emergency! I'll go and pick up anyone I need to pick up. Call."

He called Warlock first, since he was closest. "What d'you want?" the boy demanded. "We're having post-dinner, pre-dessert conversation. I think they're trying to set me up with Lord Whatshisname's youngest daughter, even though I told Dad that I'm not interested."

"Sorry to drag you away from His Lordship, but we've got an emergency going on. Two angels just grabbed my Papa, and I don't like to think what they're doing to him!"

"What can I do about that?"

"Dad thinks if the three of us put our powers together, we can break into Heaven and bust him out. We're on our way to get you now, and then we'll go pick up Adam."

When Warlock spoke again, his voice was a bit hesitant. "I have to tell you, Fred . . . I don't know if I can do all that again."

"We have to try."

"Got 'im!" Crowley exclaimed. He was using the GPS in his phone to track the signal picked up on Freddie's phone.[2] "Tell him we'll be there in ten minutes."

"You hear that? Make some excuse. Tell them the truth, that I've got a family emergency and I need your help. Then get ready, and bring whatever you can. I don't know how long we'll be gone."

"I hope we won't miss Christmas."

"If anything happens to Papa," said Freddie, "I won't care if Christmas never comes again."

* * *

They made it to His Lordship's country estate in eight minutes. Warlock was waiting by the gate with a small suitcase in one hand.

"I brought everything I could find that looked like a weapon," he said.

Freddie gaped at him. "You **stole **from a virtual stranger?"

"I'll bring it all back. Anyway, it's okay, cause I've got diplomatic immunity. That means I can't get arrested even if I killed someone."

"I hope you're not planning any of that," Crowley said.

"Sorry, Nanny. We might have to."

"Not with these pig-stickers." Crowley had opened the suitcase to find an assortment of short but highly pointed instruments. "Is that a letter opener? Were you planning on going up against the forces of Heaven armed with a bloody letter opener?"

"It was all I could find."

"Let's hope Adam can get his hands on something a bit bigger and more . . . shall we say . . . infernal. The only thing that can kill an angel is either a demon blade, which, as once the war was over they confiscated all our weapons and melted them down, doesn't exist, or Hellfire. Burns them right up."

Warlock held up a plastic barbecue lighter. "Will this do?"

Crowley took it and thumbed the button that controlled the flame. What emerged was about half an inch long and not very hot. "Maybe with enough power behind it, you can turn it into a flamethrower. It'll have to do. Call Adam and tell him we're coming."

It took longer to get to Tadfield-twelve minutes, with Crowley pushing the Bentley as hard as he could. He wasn't able to park anywhere near the house, so he let the boys out and circled the block to come back for them.

On the first round, they weren't there. The second time, he saw them just coming out the door.

"-don't understand why this can't wait," Adam was saying.

"They've got Papa!" Freddie told him. "We've got to go and get him before they do something really nasty to him!"

"Go and get him? Where is he?"

"He's in Heaven," said Crowley. "I'll show you where the entrance is. At least one of you will be able to get in."

"You're not coming?" asked Warlock.

Crowley shook his head. "Too much divine power in that place. The moment I set foot on the Up escalator, I'd be burned to ashes by the holiness. I'll just stay outside and coordinate . . . things."

* * *

The entrance to Heaven (and Hell) was an office building in South London. Crowley parked the Bentley down the block (so that it wouldn't immediately be spotted) and then he and the boys walked back, looking around to make sure that no one was following.

"All right, boys," he said when they'd reached the corner. "Before we go in, before we even get near the place, you need to . . . whatever it is you do to connect. Combine. Take all your power, whatever you've got left, and put it all together, then draw on it as one. However that works."

"I don't think I've got anything left at all," said Warlock.

Crowley seized him by the shoulders. "You do," he said. "I can feel it. Not as much as there was on that day, but it's still there. Dormant. It's always been part of you, because you were close to him. Close to both of them. You absorbed a bit from Adam from just being in the same room with him, at the beginning, and more from Freddie when you were growing up together. Don't doubt yourself. You have all the courage and conviction of humanity behind you. And humanity has done wonderful things. Now hurry up, we don't have much time."

He started back to the car, but didn't make it more than a few steps. Three beings were suddenly blocking his path.

"Well, well, well," said Hastur.

"The traitor returns," said Ligur.

"You weren't thinking of zzneaking in and . . . doing anything heroic, were you?" said Beelzebub. "That would be . . . a mizztake. Grab him!"

"Run, boys!" Crowley yelled in the wrong direction. They heard him anyway and rushed into the building, hiding behind the potted plants in the foyer.

"Should we go after 'em?" asked Ligur.

Beelzebub snorted. "Leave them. We have what we came for."

They dragged Crowley into the building and threw him onto the Down escalator while the boys watched in horror.

"What do we do now?" Warlock asked.

"What he said," Adam told him. "Combine our power, let it flow into each of us, then one goes up, and one goes down."

"But which one?"

"I can't go down," said Freddie. "I don't think I'd . . . make it."

"You go up, then," Adam nodded. "I'll go down. Warlock, you're the lucky one. You can go whichever way you choose."

"I think you'll need backup more," he said.

"I don't know," said Freddie. "Those angels looked really mean."

"Fine. Whichever one of us is done first, wait on the landing, and Warlock, you can go up or down as needs be. All right? Let's do this."

The three of them nodded and then stood there staring at one another, unsure how to proceed.

"In the cartoons," said Warlock, "they say something. To change."

"What, like 'Wonder Twin powers, activate'? I don't think so. Just focus." Adam put one hand over his heart and held the other out to Freddie. Freddie did the same, but when they got to Warlock, he found he was out of hands.

"It's all right," said Adam. "You're the conduit. The channel that the power flows through. Just hold each of our hands and focus on bringing your own bit of power to the surface. And hurry!"

"Right." He closed his eyes and focused. He thought about Nanny and how much he loved her . . . him. He thought about Brother Francis and his gentle smile and love for the whole world. And he thought about how Christmas was about family, wherever you found it.

He'd thought it would feel like electricity, running through him. It didn't. It was like a warmth, a natural energy, flowing up out of his very soul and into his being, merging and melding with the same energy coming from the other two boys. It filled each of them until their hair stood on end and their eyes glowed with universal power.

"**_Let's go get them_**," they said as one.

* * *

Of all the things Freddie was expecting Heaven to look like, a gigantic office block was not one of them.

Everything was white, blindingly so. There were windows that looked out onto all parts of the Earth simultaneously-here it was evening in London, there it was afternoon in New York, a little further on it was morning in Tokyo. There was only one place he wanted to go, and he reached out with extraordinary senses and found Papa in a spacious office deep within the building.

The barbecue lighter was in his pocket, safety lock on just so he wouldn't accidentally set himself on fire. He hoped it had enough gas or whatever in it.

_Doesn't need gas. I'll help you by channeling hellfire through it._

_Adam? _Freddie thought. _That you?_

_We're all together now, _said a part of them that was mostly Warlock. _Can you see what we're seeing?_

Freddie closed his eyes for a second and focused. At first he saw only darkness, but then it was like he opened his eyes with them still shut. He saw dimly-lit corridors lined with rotting bodies which were still moving. They were all moving in the same direction.

_Yeah, I see it. Be careful!_

_You, too, _said Adam. _I'll send Warlock along to help you when we're done here._

_Someone's coming. Got to go._

There was an angel, clad in a pale pink suit, gliding along the immaculate corridor toward Freddie. It was no one he recognized, but a part of him that was tuned into the infinite whispered _Jophiel._

"Good day, Jophiel," he said, trying to look as though he belonged.

Jophiel peered down at him. "You the new intern?"

"Yes, that's right. I'm . . ." He struggled for a name. "Forn . . . iel. That's right. Forniel."

"Well, carry on, then, Forniel." Jophiel nodded and then carried on his way down the corridor without so much as a backward glance.

Freddie breathed an inward sigh of relief and kept going. He encountered no one else on his way to the office where Papa was being held, and once he got there, he found out why.

They were all here.

The tall one in charge, Gabriel, was speaking.

" . . . charged with the crime of willingly consorting with an agent of Hell, frequently and openly! We have **proof**!" He held up a blown-up photograph of Papa and Dad sitting side by side on a park bench. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself, traitor?"

"I don't suppose it would do any good," Papa said weakly, "to say that I've been trying to reform him all these years." His hands were twisting together in his lap, and he looked down at the floor.

"Demons can't **be **reformed!" a woman in a severe lilac suit shouted. _Michael _popped into Freddie's head.

There were murmurs of "quite right, quite right." Freddie wanted to rush in and shake each one of them for saying such horrible things about his Papa and Dad. But he waited for the right moment, lighter in his pocket.

_What's going on with you guys? _ he "asked" Adam.

_About the same as you. A lot of waiting._

* * *

In Hell, things were progressing just about as badly.

It was harder for two people to hide than one, even if they were a bit on the small side. Often Adam and Warlock had to split up, and they would have trouble finding each other again. Smearing dust and grime on their faces to disguise themselves as demons didn't make things any easier.

They followed the crowd to a huge (but not infinite) room, like an auditorium. At what could roughly be called the front of this room was a platform, and a pulpit. Standing at the pulpit, minus the fly hat but with an expression of righteous fury, was Beelzebub.

Warlock and Adam took seats all the way in the back, so they wouldn't be spotted.

"You got your weapon?" Adam whispered.

Warlock closed his fingers around the letter opener in his pocket and nodded. He didn't care what Nanny said; having something was better than nothing.

"I hope they start soon." Adam looked out at the room full of seething demons and suppressed a shudder. "This place smells."

"Not like fire," Warlock agreed. "Not like smoke and brimstone. Like . . . something that's gone moldy and rotten."

"Not how I pictured Hell, no."

"Bring forth the traitor!" Beelzebub called out.

Two tall, spindly demons strode in, dragging Crowley between them. From here, the boys couldn't see how badly he was injured, but he seemed to be mostly intact. The guard demons shoved him into something resembling a witness box, and then moved in front of the exit. The **only **exit.

Bugger.

"The demon known as Crawly-"

"**Crow**ley!" he corrected.

"You have been charged with high treason for consorting with a scion of Heaven. You have shirked your duty and turned your back on your own kind! What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I was trying to tempt him to our side!" He looked around, but all he saw were jeering faces. "Really, guys, you've got to believe me!"

"Why," the demon called Hastur sneered, "should we believe **you**? You told me you were responsible for the Spanish Inquisition!"

"I said I thought it was a great idea! I never took the credit! The humans thought that one up all by themselves!"

"And exactly how many," asked a hatchet-faced demon, "of your commendations were for things the humans thought up themselves?"

"Well . . . it's just that they're so good at it! They hardly even need our help anymore!"

The crowd went crazy, shouting insults and abuse. A few threw things, including something that landed with a wet plop and then seemed to be trying to crawl away.

"We've got to do something," said Warlock. "They're gonna kill her-him!"

"Wait," Adam cautioned him. "If we move at the wrong moment, they'll kill us too. Just give it a few more minutes . . ."

* * *

"It has been decided," Gabriel announced. "Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Angel of the Ninth Principality, please rise."

Aziraphale stood, not meeting anyone's eyes. His hands were clasped together behind his back so tightly that the knuckles had gone white. Freddie had never seen his Papa looking so frightened and uncomfortable.

"You have been found guilty of crimes against God and against your fellow angels. Sentence to be carried out immediately."

"And what is the sentence?" Aziraphale asked, his voice barely audible.

"Death. Not just discorporation, but utter oblivion. You cannot be permitted to continue in this . . . perversion any longer."

"And how will it be carried out?"

There was the ding of an elevator arriving. Doors concealed in the far wall slid open and revealed a hideous demon of the weasel persuasion, if his appearance was anything to go by. He carried a red bucket.

"Where d'you want it, guv?" he asked.

* * *

[1] A third cousin of the Queen, about as far from the throne as one could get and still remain on British soil.

[2] He'd made some modifications to his phone to allow it to do that, which incidentally voided the warranty.


	9. Chapter 9

Gabriel sighed in annoyance. "I am the Archangel fucking Gabriel!" he snapped. "Do not address me so casually, filth!"

"You want it or not?"

"Yes, fine, all right! Over there, in the pit."

The pit was a circular depression in the floor, the only thing in the room that wasn't immaculate. Even from his vantage point, Freddie could see that it was lined with ashes. But ashes from what? Or, perhaps, whom?

The demon sauntered to the edge of the pit and tipped the bucket into it. A column of hellfire, about a meter across and three meters high, blazed up, and all of the angels stepped as far back from it as they could go.

_Don't need this, _Freddie thought, willing the lighter away for the moment. _If only I had some holy water-_

No sooner had the thought materialized than something appeared at his feet. It was a tartan-wrapped Thermos bottle. It was, in fact, the Thermos of holy water that Aziraphale had given Crowley more than fifty years before, and kept safe by him all this time in his flat.

You might remember that just before Freddie's mum came to visit, Crowley had poured the water into a bucket and prepared to use it in self-defense. He had never got the chance, and set the bucket aside without a further thought to it. Imagine his surprise when he woke up on that fateful Sunday morning to find the bucket empty, the holy water back in the Thermos, and the Thermos in the safe where it had been all along, just as if nothing had happened.

Freddie had done that. Adam would have, but he didn't know about the (not very well) concealed safe in Dad's office. Freddie had found it one day when he was playing. He had tried to open it just for fun, to see what was inside it, and had somehow succeeded. He couldn't see what Daddy wanted with a Thermos full of cold water, so he just put it back. Must be a grownup thing, he had thought at the time.

Now that he knew what it was, he planned to use it to put out the fire, as well as the demon who had brought it. Something in the back of his mind told him that it was a terrible thing to do to anyone, but another little voice-Dad's voice-said: _There's a time to be nice, and then there's a time to be an utter bastard. You can do this, Freddie Bear._

He snuck up one careful step at a time, unscrewing the cap as he went. When he was within a few feet, he called out, "Hey! Ugly! Get a face full of this!"

And he sloshed the bottle so that a portion (a smaller portion than he would have liked) went flying and splashed all over the demon. There was an unholy screech.[1] The demon slowly began **melting**, from the top down, which thankfully meant that the screeches ended rather quickly. Freddie forced himself to watch, and he suddenly understood why his dad had never been able to watch the end of _The Wizard of Oz_. It really was a horrible way to die.

The angels all turned to face him. The only one who didn't look annoyed or horrified or downright furious was Aziraphale. On his face was a mixture of shock, hope, and a bit of worry, because who knew what they would do to Freddie now?

He glanced into the Thermos. There was barely an ounce of holy water left, certainly not enough to put out the fire.

"Papa, run!"

Aziraphale needed no further invitation. He ran for the exit as if all the demons of Hell were after him. They weren't, of course, but after the initial confusion, a few of the angels broke off from the main group and pursued him. Freddie stepped into their path.

He brought the lighter out of his pocket.

"This is Hellfire," he said, and clicked the trigger. They stepped back, and then noticed that the resulting flame was only an inch long.

Gabriel pointed with one shaking finger. "What are you waiting for? Get him!"

By this time, Aziraphale had made it to the elevator, which always came the second it was called, and escaped to the main lobby. Freddie looked down at the miniscule flame, and then concentrated.

A jet of fire about two feet long erupted from the impossibly tiny nozzle. It struck the first angel in line and engulfed him.

"I'm so sorry," Freddie murmured. "I don't like to have to do this, but you leave me no choice."

He sent a mental summons Down Below: _Papa is safe, but I could use a hand here. Warlock?_

_Sorry, Fred. We're a little busy ourselves._

_Did you get to Dad yet?_

_Well . . . yes and no._

_Go! _Adam commanded his friend. _I've got this. Leave me the demon blade._

_The what?_

_The letter opener. _

_If you believe in it, _Freddie told him, _it'll work for you. Come now!_

_On my way._

* * *

In the middle of the execution chamber was a large, old-fashioned bathtub. A full bathtub. It was full of holy water, which is why no demon came within five feet of it.

The water had been delivered by the Archangel Michael, shortly before returning to Heaven to witness Aziraphale's execution (except, of course, that it didn't quite come off). The two guard demons had left their post at the door and were goading Crowley toward the bathtub with sharply pointed sticks.[2]

"The demon Crowley," said Beelzebub, "you are hereby sentenced to death by immersion in holy water. Do you have anything to zzzay before your sentence is carried out?"

"Only this," Crowley said, and paused. He looked out over the crowd of assembled demons who all looked eager to watch him die, and right at the back, he spotted the boys. He gave them a nod, as if to say, _Don't worry, boys. I've got this._

"This is a new jacket. I'd hate to get it ruined. Do you mind if I-"

Hastur came forward and took the jacket from him. "'S nice," he said. "I think I'll keep it after you're . . . you know."

"We'll see about that."

"Get. In," Beelzebub ordered Crowley.

"Yeah, yeah, hold on. You can't rush these things."

"Now!" said Adam.

Warlock pulled the letter opener from his pocket, only to find that in his hands, it was a gleaming sword. "Stand back!" he said, holding it in front of him in what he hoped was a threatening manner.

The two guard demons sneered. One of them reached out to seize the weapon-and it burst into flame.

Warlock hadn't expected **that**. Neither had Adam, from the expression on his face.

"I said get **back**! We're leaving now, and you'd better not try to follow!"

It was then that Freddie's urgent summons came through, and though Warlock insisted that he was needed, Adam told him to go.

"You take the sword!" He passed it over. "Get Nanny out of here! We'll all meet back at the car!"

"No, you need a weapon!"

"I'll get one. Hang on, Freddie, I'm coming!" He ran for the exit, and not bothering with the elevator, took the escalator two steps at a time. He passed Aziraphale on the landing and told him to go to the car and wait there.

This left Adam facing a thousand demons armed with only one flaming sword, but he didn't seem worried.

Hastur smirked. "Look at the little boy with his toy. Don't you know that demons are impervious to Hellfire?" He reached for the sword and yelped as his fingers closed around the flame. They went up like paper held over a hot stove.

"This isn't Hellfire," said the boy. "It's holy fire. This is the Weapon of Heaven, and it can take you all down unless you back off. Now!"

"Where the heaven did you get a flaming sword?" Crowley demanded.

"Warlock had it," he said. "Let's go."

"Hang on." Crowley miracled up the red fire bucket from his flat and stepped over to the tub of holy water. Carefully, gripping it by the edge, he scooped up some of the water and flung it as far from him as possible. A few drops splashed on his hands, leaving small round burn scars. The holy water landed on the first line of demons (but not, sadly, Hastur, who had stepped back as soon as he saw what Crowley was about to do), and they bubbled and melted as the rest of the demons stood by and watched in horror.

Adam and Crowley ran for the exit while the demons were still standing there watching their cohorts dissolve. They hurried up the escalator and paused in the front lobby.

"I told them to meet us at the car," said Adam.

"Fine, I'll go. You go help Freddie and Warlock."

"And leave you two alone, unprotected?"

"We can take care of ourselves."

"They're gonna be coming after us. They're gonna be **mad**. I'll stay with you, just in case . . ." He didn't dare speak the words aloud.

"Any moment now, they'll come down, and then we'll go get in the car and get the hell out of here," said Crowley, looking back toward the escalators. "Any moment now."

"In the meantime," said Adam, "just in case any of them get past, we should get out of the building, at least. Don't you have a weapon?"

"I can get one if I need it."

"Right." Adam turned the sword back into a letter opener and stuck it in his pocket, point up so it wouldn't accidentally jab him. Then they ran for the car.

"Wait for me!" came a voice from behind. They stopped and turned back. Aziraphale came jogging up to them, gasping for breath. He wasn't used to running.

"Where . . . are . . . the other two?" he croaked out, head down and breathing hard.

"They're coming," said Crowley. "Let's get the car and swing back for them."

"Are we all going to fit in the car?"

"They're kids. They can squish."

* * *

Angels, Freddie thought, shouldn't be able to fight dirty. It went against their basic nature of love and goodness. These angels, apparently, hadn't gotten the memo.

He kept the flame in front of him, and so far it seemed to be working; the angels kept their distance from the Hellfire. It would only hold them off for so long, though-until someone figured out they could sneak up behind him, at least.

"Don't worry, I've got your back."

"Warlock! Did you get Dad out?"

"They're in the car waiting for us. Let's blow this pop stand."

"You don't even have a weapon!"

"Don't I?" In the blink of an eye, there was a long, pointed club in Warlock's hand. He swung it about, driving back the angels who had been circling around to creep up on them from the rear.

"Wood from the apple tree," he said. "The original. The tree of the fruit of original sin."

"You don't even know what you're talking about," said Gabriel. "Come on, you lot! Are you going to let a couple of **children **push you around? Are the armies of Heaven so easily defeated? Good thing we didn't have a war, then, or we would have lost!"

Warlock hit him over the head with the non-pointed end of the club.

And Gabriel said, "Ouch!"

"I've met Presidents," said Warlock, switching the club around again to the pointed end. "I've met Prime Ministers, and kings, and I met the Queen once. She let me pet one of her dogs. I wasn't scared of them, and I'm not scared of you! But I think you're scared of us, aren't you?"

Gabriel didn't answer. He looked around at the assembled angels and shouted, "What are you waiting for? Get them!"

"Um," said an angel near the front, a young brown-skinned man in a pale grey suit. "They're children."

"They're the spawn of Satan!"

"**I'm **not," said Warlock. "And Freddie can't help how he was born. He's nothing to do with that person, anyway."

The exit was five feet away. It would have taken them two seconds to reach it, if the path had been clear. But the second they tried, the angels would have been all over them.

Or would they?

Gabriel certainly looked mad[3] enough to go after them.

Freddie spotted a stack of papers sitting on a desk nearby. He grabbed the whole stack and scattered them in front of him. Then he bent down and touched the tip of the flame to the topmost paper. It burst into flame instantly and soon the whole pile was ablaze, separating them from the angels.

"And don't try to follow us!" he shouted over his shoulder as he and Warlock ran for the elevator. The door opened as soon as they pressed the button, and they hurried inside and closed the door before the sprinkler system came on and put out the fire.

It didn't work, though. The sprinklers hadn't been designed for Hellfire. Someone had to go get the special fire extinguisher from Gabriel's office and put out the flames before they spread any further. By that time, of course, the boys had reached the ground floor and were out of the building.

"This isn't over," Gabriel growled ominously.

"Do you see them yet?" Crowley asked.

Adam kneeled up on the seat and peered out the window. "Nothing yet . . . wait! I think that's them coming out of the building!"

"I hope that's them," said Aziraphale.

Crowley gunned the engine and the car zoomed forward to intercept the two boys. Adam opened the closest door and scooted over to let them in.

"What happened?" Crowley demanded.

"We set some fires," said Freddie. "Gabriel's really mad."

"Yeah, those demons weren't exactly fond of us either," said Adam.

"What'd you do?"

"Gave them a taste of holy fire."

"We've created a bunch of bloody pyromaniacs," said Crowley to Aziraphale.

"Look out!" the angel shouted.

Crowley turned his attention back to the road just in time to see Gabriel and Beelzebub standing side by side in the middle of the road. He could have kept going right over them, but he knew they would be back as soon as they found new bodies. So he hit the brakes hard enough to leave three feet of rubber on the pavement and came to a stop just inches away from the Lord of Hell and the Administrator of Heaven.

Time to face the music.

"Might as well get out," he said. "You boys still got those weapons?"

The three of them looked at each other. "We don't need those," said Freddie. "We've got something more powerful."

Gabriel strode over to the driver's side door and yanked it open. "Out," he said.

"We're getting out! For pity's sake, give us a bloody minute!"

"No more minutezz!" buzzed Beelzebub. "Your time izz up!"

"That's what you think," said Adam. He and the other two boys moved closer to the angel and the demon, and then a strange thing happened.

There was a shimmering in the air, and suddenly it was as if a transparent shell encased them. No matter how hard Gabriel or Beelzebub pushed it, hit it, scratched at it, or tried to get through it, it would not give. Not one single inch.

"What is this?" Gabriel demanded. "What have you done?"

Somewhere in the distance, church bells began to toll midnight.

"Hear that?" said Aziraphale. The sound carried perfectly through the barrier, but it would not break. "It's Christmas now. You know what Christmas is about, don't you, Gabriel? I know because you were there, when it all started. How far we've come from that hillside in Bethlehem, when all the angels gathered to welcome the newborn king."

"It was so powerful," said Crowley, "that no demon could get near the place. We'd heard about angels massing in Bethlehem, and we went up to find out what was going on, and we couldn't get within a mile of them. Strong enough to drive us back, until we finally gave up and went home."

"What it was," said Freddie, "what came into the world that cold night, was love. And love is the strongest thing in the universe."

"This is abzzurd!" cried Beelzebub. "Turn it off, whatever it izzz!"

"Love cannot be turned off," said Warlock. "It can't be broken, or destroyed. It goes on forever."

"I remember," said Aziraphale, "when the baby born that night grew up into a man who went around preaching love of all people. Love your brother. Love your enemies. Love everyone, no matter what. It made a lot of people unhappy. People are always unhappy with those who won't fall in line," he said, giving Gabriel a pointed look. You could have impaled a thousand sinners on that look. "They arrested him on trumped-up charges, and they crucified him. And this Jesus, this being of pure love, even as he died, he begged God to forgive them for it."

"And as it's his birthday," said Crowley, "well, not really his birthday, but the day everyone celebrates as his birthday, in the name of love, we demand that you go away and leave us alone. Forever."

"The power of Heaven commands you," said Freddie.

"The power of Hell commands you," said Adam.

"The power of Humanity commands you," said Warlock.

Crowley smiled as if to say _There you go, then._

"This is ridiculous," said Gabriel. "What does all this have to do with us?"

"Quite a bit, actually," said Aziraphale. "Why do you think both of you always come together?"

"Well, because we-"

"We are the highest authoritiezz in our-"

They broke off in the same moment and stared at each other in confusion. Then they turned to Aziraphale.

"It's because once, before a lot of unpleasantness happened . . . the two of you loved each other."

"Well, in a general sense-"

"Isn't that right," Aziraphale interrupted him, "Seraphiel?"

Beelzebub just stood there for a moment. Then, "That'z a name I haven't heard in a long time."

"You remember, don't you? The two of you . . . you were inseparable. Before Lucifer started making trouble, anyway. Your love for each other was a shining example to all of us. I ask you now-**we **ask you, our little family of love-in the name of that love, to declare a truce. If not forever, at least as long as the children live."

"But we don't **know** how long they'll live!" protested Gabriel.

"Do any humans know how long their lives will be?" Crowley countered. "Even at the outside, we're only talking about a hundred years or so. That's the blink of an eye for such as us. We waited six thousand years for one Apocalypse; surely you can hang around another hundred years for the next one, right?"

The two celestial beings stared at each other. Maybe they were remembering a time, long ago, when the two of them were together. Maybe they were compiling a mental shopping list. Who knew?

"What about the plan?" Gabriel said at last. "The Great Plan?"

"Would that be," asked Aziraphale, "the Ineffable Plan?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

"No one knows," said Crowley. "That's what 'ineffable' means. Only She knows if what we're doing is right."

"Trust in the Divine, and all will be well."

Gabriel looked at Beelzebub for a long moment. "I remember," he said, "pearly gray feathers, like the wings of a dove, brushing against mine."

"I remember golden plumage that enzzircled me as I zzlept, protecting me from harm."

"I remember endless days in the warm sunshine."

"Nightz when we hung the zztarz."

"All right," Gabriel said finally. "In the name of love, past and present . . . we grant you your truce."

"For now," Beelzebub amended.

"Splendid!" said Crowley. "Now if you don't mind, we really have to get these boys off to bed. It's terribly late for them to be out."

"And Merry Christmas to you both," added Aziraphale.

The two vanished, but before they did, they touched wingtip to wingtip, gold to black, acknowledging the love that once was. Then they were gone.

"All right, boys," said Crowley. "I meant what I said. We're taking you home now."

The dome dissolved into nothingness.

"I don't want to go back to Lord Borington's party," said Warlock. "Can't I stay with you tonight?"

"I'm sorry, love. I promised to bring you back when we were done, and I'll do just that."

"We'll see each other tomorrow," said Aziraphale. "Adam, isn't the Tadfield Town Council serving Christmas dinner to the homeless at the Town Hall?"

"That's right," he said. "Dad volunteered us to help."

"Well, tell them they shall have some more volunteers. We'll be there. Warlock, my boy, tell your father that it would be a great opportunity for him to be seen doing good in the community. His Lordship can come as well, if he likes."

"His image could use a boost," Warlock agreed. Then he yawned.

"Well, that's that, then. Crowley, let's get these boys back where they belong, at the quickest-and **safest**-possible speed."

"Don't worry, angel. I've been driving for a hundred years. I never take risks with our boys in the car."

Freddie, who was seated in between his brothers, leaned back and went to sleep as his namesake began singing "Thank God It's Christmas."

It was a sentiment they all could agree with.

* * *

[1] The only kind that a demon can produce.

[2] The most basic, and effective, weapon known to Man. However, pointy sticks do have some drawbacks, chief among them that they are made of wood. Keep that in mind.

[3] In the sense of "angry". Or possibly insane. Who could tell?


End file.
